


April and May Fic Collections

by glimmerglanger



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: So, turns out, I write a lot of ficlets on Tumblr. And I don't want them all to get lost. So, a collection here. Pairings noted on each "chapter." Mostly Obikin and Codywan. Some of them are follow-ups to previously posted fics.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 234
Kudos: 621





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill, TCW AU with Sith!Anakin, Jedi!Obi-wan, a dyad bond, and an implied happy ending.

“Can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?” Obi-Wan asked, avoiding Ahsoka’s desperate grab as he stepped out into the thoroughfare of the town that was currently crumbling around them. He didn’t look back at her, but he could  _ feel  _ the expression on her face, could tell she wanted to jerk after him. She wouldn’t, though. Not with the children all clustered around her.

He kept his eyes forward as he left cover, dust from ruined buildings swirling around his legs. He could smell the fire and smoke on the air, though the smell wasn’t quite enough to overcome the stench of blood. So much destruction had rained down on this village, ruining lives. Ending lives.

The cause of it all stood across from him, not more than a block away, a dark shadow despite the position of the sun, almost directly overhead. The man was tall and familiar. He’d been dogging Obi-Wan’s steps for months. Following him from planet to planet, from battlefield to battlefield, from room to room.

Fixated, had been the term Yoda used, when Obi-Wan discussed his shadow with the Council. Yoda had looked gravely concerned when he’d said it, but had offered no solutions, no explanations, beyond the fact that sometimes such fixations occured.

The Sith were prone to them, he’d said, though Obi-Wan had never heard such things. Whether he had heard of it or not, Dooku’s newest apprentice had followed him across the galaxy. Had followed him, finally, to this village, and proceeded to tear it apart, looking for him.

The man - Anakin, he’d said his name was - cocked his head to the side. His hair fell around his face and his glinting golden eyes. He asked, “What?” It was not the first time Obi-Wan had heard his voice. They spoke… frequently, though Obi-Wan had not known how to explain that to the Council.

He’d never heard of being able to see someone, speak with them, through the Force. And yet… And yet, so often, he looked over while in his quarters on the  _ Negotiator _ , and Anakin was there, watching him, eyes sharp and hungry.

Sometimes, he turned and he would be in a space he didn’t know, the only familiar thing Anakin’s form. They had spoken, so often, though Anakin would not reveal his location, and always, always, ended by trying to compel Obi-Wan to join him.

“If I agree to come with you,” Obi-Wan said, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on the back of his neck, tasting smoke and blood on the air, “can you promise me that no one else will be hurt?”

Anakin’s eyes widened, perceptibly. He sucked in a little breath, took a step forward. He had poor control, but Obi-Wan knew that already. He seemed to place no value on control, content to rage, to let everyone see exactly what he thought and felt at all times.

Obi-Wan was not sure how Count Dooku bore it, in all honesty. He had distant memories of the Count as a reserved and calm individual. Even when they met in battle after Dooku’s fall to the Dark Side, he’d been in control of himself. But that was neither here nor there, not important to the current situation.

“Yes,” Anakin said, taking another step forward. “If that’s what you want.”

Obi-Wan restrained the urge to laugh. Nothing about this was about what he wanted, not really. He knew that. After all, he’d told Anakin what he really wanted, during more than one of their little chats. He wanted the war to be over. He wanted to train his apprentice in peace. He wanted to be able to go to sleep without nightmares. He wanted--

None of that mattered. He couldn’t accomplish those things. But he could, perhaps, spare the lives of these people. He said, fighting to keep his voice calm, “It is.”

“And you’ll come with me?” Anakin asked, taking another step closer. His expression was all hunger and want, worn openly across his face. “Swear you won’t try to run. Swear you’ll stay with me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He ignored Ahsoka’s hissed, panicked comments. She’d understand, someday, why he was doing what he was doing. Someday, she would have a padawan, a life in her hands that needed protection. And she would make the same decision, he knew. She was a good padawan, a good Jedi, a good person.

He said, “I swear. Only spare these people and my apprentice.”

“Agreed,” Anakin said, voice getting thicker, eyes darkening with each step, until he stood directly in front of Obi-Wan. They’d been close before, through whatever strange connection bound them together, but never so close outside of that bond, never so close that Obi-Wan could feel the heat rising off of his skin.

“You will not regret this,” Anakin said, looking across Obi-Wan’s face, his expression hungry. He reached out, carefully, brushing rough fingertips across Obi-Wan’s cheek, breath catching at the first touch of skin to skin.

“Funny,” Obi-Wan said, almost against his mouth, Anakin had swayed towards him, “I was just about to tell you that you would.” He felt Anakin’s mouth quirk against his, and would have shifted back, but Anakin curled an arm around him and kissed him, boldly, right there in the middle of the street and--

And if this were required to keep these people safe, to keep Ahsoka safe, then Obi-Wan would allow it. He kept his eyes open, watching Anakin’s fall closed, hearing him make a soft, needy sound. Anakin pulled him closer, even as he lifted his mouth, and murmured, “I’m sorry about this, dear one,” and there was a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his head and then--

#

Obi-Wan woke up slowly, with a headache beating at his temples. His memories returned all in a rush, and he tensed, shifting, only to find himself suddenly restrained. An arm was curled around him, holding him, pulling him back against a familiar body.

He’d seen this space. Anakin’s quarters on some kind of ship. He’d seen the bed he lay in. Sometimes he’d woken up in it before, or, at least, some part of him had. Anakin flattened his hand across Obi-Wan’s chest, skin to skin, and nuzzled against the back of his neck. He said, “Good morning.”

“You knocked me out,” Obi-Wan complained, and felt Anakin smile against his skin.

“I did,” he said, nodding. “And I apologized for it. But I didn’t want you to change your mind on the way to my ship.” He brushed a kiss across Obi-Wan’s shoulder, soft, even as he shifted close enough for Obi-Wan to feel the state of his body.

Obi-Wan swallowed. He’d known what he was getting into when he made the decision that led him here. Anakin had never been shy or reserved about wanting him, never been anything but open in his belief that the bond they shared meant they were supposed to be with one another, in all ways imaginable.

Obi-Wan said, staring at the far wall, “My apprentice--”

“She’s fine,” Anakin said, pushing up onto an elbow, rolling Obi-Wan over to his back and leaning down once more, kissing his mouth, languid and slow. “I didn’t want to hurt her, anyway. I know hurting her would hurt you, Obi-Wan.”

“Hurting anyone hurts me,” he said, against Anakin’s mouth, because it was worth a try. He’d spent so long trying to explain his point of view to Anakin, hours upon hours where they discussed the galaxy and the philosophy of the Jedi. It was disappointing, really, that none of it seemed to take.

Anakin pulled back, just a little, enough for Obi-Wan to see his grin, wide and dangerous in the dimly lit room. “That’s not true,” he said, radiating smugness.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin, I’m--”

“I know who’s behind the war,” Anakin cut in, that same grin on his face, his eyes bright as he stroked his thumb across Obi-Wan’s cheek and slid fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair.

Obi-Wan blinked up at him, and asked, “What?”

“Mm,” Anakin said, rolling to cover him, weight only partially supported on his elbows, hips settling between Obi-Wan’s thighs. “I know exactly who’s pulling all the strings, Obi-Wan. I found out, for you.” He ducked his head, nuzzling back against Obi-Wan’s neck, breath hot. “That Sith Lord the Council is worried about? The one they haven’t been able to find? I know who it is.”

Obi-Wan considered. Anakin could have been lying. But he didn’t, generally. Anakin seemed to see no point in lying. His heart beat faster, solely because of what Anakin had said, definitely not because Anakin was sucking kisses down his throat, hips rolling slowly, nothing but a press touch all down his body. He asked, “Who?”

“Will hurting him hurt you, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, voice thick and gloating. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He followed the words by nipping at skin, hard, and Obi-Wan gasped, involuntarily. He felt Anakin’s smile, smug. “Much.”

“Please,” Obi-Wan said, not sure, from the thickness of his voice, exactly what he was asking for. “Anakin, if you know--”

Anakin sighed. He sounded put upon, even as he pushed up, Obi-Wan’s skin tingling where he’d been focusing his attention. “I knew you’d want to handle it right away,” he said, and there was fondness in his expression. “So don’t fret. We should be almost to Coruscant.”

He rolled from the bed, standing naked in the room for a moment before bending to grab his clothing. Obi-Wan sat up on the mattress. His clothing had been removed as well. He tried to manage surprise at that, and couldn’t. Anakin had never made any attempt to hide how much he wanted Obi-Wan, after all.

Obi-Wan caught the robes tossed his way, ignoring Anakin’s smirk when he caught Obi-Wan watching him dress. Obi-Wan focused on clearing his thoughts, and said, “And what is it you want, for sharing this information with me?”

Anakin shrugged his tunic on, leaned over, and curled his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. He asked, thickly, lips just brushing Obi-Wan’s mouth, “Can you not guess, dear one?”

Obi-Wan shivered down his spine. He asked, “Me, then?”

Anakin smiled against his mouth, pressed closer and took a kiss, deep and hard. “You, then,” he said, when he pulled back. He brushed his thumb across Obi-Wan’s lower lip, eyes dark and glinting with hungry promise. “Always you, Obi-Wan.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill, post!ROTS AU where Anakin won during the Volcano Divorce. Hints of Vaderkin/Obikin.

“Which part of me wasn’t enough?” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet, ragged. It was the first thing he’d said in hours.

Anakin - no, that wasn’t,  _ he  _ wasn’t Anakin anymore, Anakin was  _ dead _ \- blinked over at him. Obi-Wan sat slumped against one wall of the bridge. He was staring at nothing, shoulder leaned against the wall, head at an awkward angle on his neck; his eyes just… just blank.

They’d been blank since Mustafar. Since he’d backed up the side of the hill, retreating, the way he had for the entirety of the fight, falling back, giving way. They were blank the way they’d been since they’d both felt Padmé die, alone on the ship. Blank the way he’d been since he’d wavered and just… collapsed, down into himself.

Anakin -  _ Vader _ , that was his name now - blinked, slowly. It was strange, already, to hear someone speaking without first having him bark an order. None of the troopers spoke to one another anymore. There were no more conversations in the halls. No more laughter. No more anything, but marching footfalls.

Just order, order on his bridge, order from the troopers standing around him in silence.

That was what he’d wanted. Order. Security. Peace, for the galaxy. It  _ was _ .

He shook the thoughts away. “What?” his voice was rough and ragged, still, from inhaling all the fumes on Mustafar. He needed to wash the ash off of his skin, but… Hadn’t, yet. He hadn’t moved off of the bridge, despite the shaking in his legs and his hands.

He needed to be there, to stare at the stars. He’d brought peace to them. He had. He had, he--

“Where did I fail?” Obi-Wan asked, and his voice  _ hitched _ , terribly. “Which part of me left you down so severely, that you would--would do--all of this--would--”

Vader stiffened his shoulders, listening to Obi-Wan’s voice crack and break. There was a gibbering voice inside him, in the back of his head, asking those same questions. He’d been smothering it since Coruscant. Since the Chancellor’s rooms. He pushed that voice away.

He’d done the right thing. The necessary thing. It had been his only choice, it  _ had _ . “You never cared before,” he said, his voice coming out flat, angry.

Obi-Wan wept. Vader heard it and the shattered tremble of his breath. “I loved you,” Obi-Wan said, through those tears, those false, lying tears. 

“No,” Vader said, stepping over to him, grabbing onto horror and forcing it into fury. Obi-Wan was lying to him, that was all. Obi-Wan always lied to him. Just to--to keep him pliant and foolish and weak.

He reached out with the Force, grabbing Obi-Wan and jerking him up the wall. Obi-Wan made no attempt to struggle against him, to fight the pressure around his throat. He just hung there, limbs dangling, hair lank, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks wet. None of the troopers said a word. None of them even looked over.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, staring at him, “I loved you, you were--”

“You always pushed me away!” Vader snapped, tightening his fingers, because he wouldn’t be lied to anymore. He wouldn’t. Obi-Wan had lied to him, just like Padmé had. Yes, they were both liars, just trying to hold him back. Claiming they cared to control him. “You were always afraid of me! You didn’t even - even want to train me!”

Red spread up Obi-Wan’s face, dark and terrible. His legs shook and still he did not fight. He did not struggle for breath. There was only resignation on his expression, and Vader should have - should have cut him down on Mustafar, should have driven his saber through Obi-Wan’s lying heart, carved him open to prove he was empty inside, only vacant space where his heart should have been and--

Vader jerked back a step, fingers spasming open, some weakness in him tearing at the inside of his chest. He gulped at the air, feeling as though he were the one suffocating. It was some trick, something Obi-Wan was doing. He’d found a way to squeeze Vader’s ribs like this, it--

Obi-Wan slid to the ground, sprawling on his side, coughing terribly and trying to sip at the air. The marks around his throat were red and purple. They looked like the marks around Padmé ’s throat. They looked--

“You’re a liar,” Vader snapped, and Obi-Wan shook his head, weakly. He made no effort to rise, to push off of the floor. He only shook his head, still telling all his old lies, the kriffing bastard, still trying to twist Vader around--

“No,” Obi-Wan rasped, his voice ruined. “Not -- to you.” He tilted his head against the floor, his eyes unfocused and wet, and said, “I’m sorry, Anakin. So sorry. That I wasn’t. Enough.”

“Shut up!” Vader almost slapped his hands over his ears, restraining himself through force of will. “That’s not--don’t call me that! I’m not him.” Anakin Skywalker had been a fool. An idiot. A frightened little boy. 

A hero, a voice whispered, and he ground his teeth together.

He was none of those things, anymore.

“You are to me,” Obi-Wan said, quiet and sure and horrible, and Vader screamed, the sound torn from him, shoving Obi-Wan over onto his back, falling over him, a hand fisted in his tunics, other fist drawn back, and Obi-Wan made a little surprised, hurt sound when the first blow fell.

“Anakin,” he panted, after the second, and Vader lifted him, slammed him back to the deck, because it wasn’t true, Anakin was dead and he had brought order to the galaxy, peace, he’d done what needed done and Anakin was dead, he was. “Anakin--” Obi-Wan coughed, one hand waving up into the air, vaguely.

He’d try something, Vader knew. Something with the Force. But Vader was ready, was prepared, would overcome whatever it was, and--

And Obi-Wan curled his fingers, delicately, against the side of Vader’s cheek. Soft. Barely there. He gasped, choking on something in his throat, “Anakin, please. Look. Look at - at my feelings. Look.”

And Vader snarled. It was a trick, a trap. But he could overcome Obi-Wan’s tricks. He’d look, he’d see right through whatever lies were in his head. And then he’d rip Obi-Wan apart, for making him feel this way, for making him doubt, he’d--

He fitted his hand to the side of Obi-Wan’s face, pushing  _ in  _ to his thoughts, his feelings, nothing gentle about it. He tore, violent and careless, and froze, as he realized what he was tearing through.

Obi-Wan hurt. He was close to death, on the very brink of it. He’d been pushed there by Vader’s hands, and yet--

And yet there was so much in him, hope and sorrow and guilty and, yes, love. An incomprehensible amount of it, overflowing through him. Every corner of his emotions was haunted by the ghost of Anakin Skywalker, with fondness and pride and--

And Anakin jerked away, the emotions burning him on the inside, under his skin, in his head. He stumbled back, hitting the floor and pushing with his heels, needing, suddenly, to be as far away from Obi-Wan as possible. He was making a sound, a terrible sound, in the back of his throat.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan slurred, from across the bridge. He was just laying there, terribly still. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin shuddered, horror and disgust quaking through him as he stared at his hands, knowing exactly what he’d used them to do. Obi-Wan’s blood on his fingers was only one of his sins, not the least, not the least by far, but--

“Obi-Wan,” he panted, ragged, through the choking pressure in his throat, “what have I done?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill. Vampire AU with Evil Palps and hints of Obikin.

“Can you feel the blood draining from your body?” the Chancellor asked, gloating, leaning over the bed, and Obi-Wan wished, truly, that he had enough time to unpack everything wrong with his current situation.

He’d start with the fact that - apparently - a gods’ damned vampire had somehow insinuated himself into the heart of their government, that none of his fellow knights had realized what had happened, that they’d all happily danced to his whims for  years , that he’d taken - taken Anakin, and--

And corrupted him, somehow.

Turned him.

Obi-Wan scowled up at the figure looming above him, straining against the bonds around his wrists, but he had been secured firmly. Palpatine’s guards had taken excessive care with the knots, pulling his arms out so that his shoulders burned. They hadn’t contented themselves there. Ropes cut into his ankles, as well, pinning him down.

When they’d first finished the knots, leaving him panting and swearing, the taste of blood in his mouth, he’d thought Palpatine had intended… Well. Something besides what had happened. He’d been braced for a different kind of nightmare, before another guard - one wearing a helmet, Obi-Wan had not been able to see any of their faces - had come into the room, carrying a body wrapped in a blanket.

Obi-Wan had been unable to move, to do anything but twist his head to look, as the guard stepped up to the bed, leaned over, and deposited the body. Obi-Wan had been looking for Anakin for days, increasingly worried about his disappearance, eventually tracking him to the castle.

He had not expected to find Anakin as a corpse. Pale. Bloodless. Dirt cacked to his skin.

Not Anakin, not his partner, his friend, his--

Not Anakin, who was the finest swordsman Obi-Wan had ever met. Not Anakin, who had lived through so much. Not Anakin.

But the reality of the situation had not allowed him to retreat from the obvious truth. Not when the guard had put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and rolled him, so that his cold skin pressed against Obi-Wan’s body, not when Palpatine had reappeared, smiling, a knife in his hand.

“I’ll kill you for this,” Obi-Wan had said, the words torn out of his throat, his eyes burning with grief and loss. He’d thought he’d never feel such grief again, not after demons tore Satine apart in front of him. He had, obviously, been mistaken.

“I’m afraid you won’t get the chance,” Palpatine had said, and leaned over, gripping Obi-Wan’s jaw, tilting his head to the side. And for a moment, Obi-Wan had thought the man intended only to open his throat from ear to ear. To kill him, leaving his blood to soak down into the fine bed, with Anakin’s corpse curled against him.

Instead, Palpatine barely parted his skin before drawing back. “There,” he’d said, “that will be enough.” He’d raised the blade to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lap up the blood, and Obi-Wan had been horrified, the horror only building at the thick, hungry sound Palpatine made.

He’d killed vampires. They were monstrous, and that this one had killed Anakin--

Except, he’d realized, as blood slid down his throat and began to soak into the sheets, Palpatine had not killed Anakin. That was not the crime he had committed. Obi-Wan had frozen, numb with distant dread, when Anakin stirred, impossibly cold limbs moving.

“No,” he’d panted, when Anakin moved, slowly, jerkily, pulling himself up and across Obi-Wan’s chest. “No, no, not this,” but no one had been listening. No one had cared, no one had done anything as Anakin slumped against him, all of his weight crushing Obi-Wan down against the mattress as he pressed his face closer, dragging his tongue, finally, over Obi-Wan’s throat.

He’d licked at the blood, but only for a moment, only just long enough for horror to fully roll down Obi-Wan’s spine, and then, as though marshalling the strength, he’d rolled fully over onto Obi-Wan, grabbed his chin, pulled it to the side, and, as Obi-Wan gasped, “No!” sunk in his teeth.

It had hurt, the pain sudden and horrific. And it did not stop and it did not stop and it did not stop. Anakin swallowed, tongue on Obi-Wan’s throat, teeth sunk into his throat. Obi-Wan struggled to breathe under Anakin’s weight, his slowly warming body, and scowled up at Palpatine’s smirking visage.

“He’ll never forgive you for this,” Obi-Wan managed to pant, through the pain. Talking made it hurt worse, shifting the fangs in his throat. He was beginning to grow cold, all over. Dizzy. All the life in his was being taken, shifted over into Anakin’s body, and that was not even a bargain he would have begrudged, not normally.

Not if it were an exchange for Anakin’s true life. Obi-Wan would trade himself willingly, to save Anakin. As though sensing those thoughts, Anakin stirred against him, more movement than he’d made since sinking in his fangs.

Palpatine laughed, a cackle. “Oh, he will. When he realizes all he has done, he will grab onto anything I say to justify it. He’ll have to. Otherwise, he won’t be able to live with himself.” He leaned over, stroking a hand across Anakin’s shoulder, and Obi-Wan shuddered on Anakin’s behalf.

“Get your hands off of him,” Obi-Wan snapped, but he could hear the weakness in his voice. He tensed his shoulders, his arms, straining against the bonds, but it was a poor effort. He collapsed back, under Anakin’s weight, listening to Palpatine laugh, all delight and sharp edges. Over the sound of it, he barely heard the strange, questioning sound Anakin made. He felt it more, translated directly into his neck.

Obi-Wan blinked, his eyes burning. His neck hurt, deeply. His vision was starting to go black around the edges. And Anakin was making more little sounds, coming more and more alive with each swallow.

He shifted against Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan braced for more pain, but he was only placing an elbow on the bed, lifting some of his weight away, enough that Obi-Wan could suck in a breath. “Anakin,” he rasped out, Anakin’s other fingers still clenched around his jaw, holding him in place, tightening a bit at Obi-Wan’s voice. 

“He can’t hear you,” Palpatine said, the bed dipping as he  sat . He was petting Anakin’s hair; Obi-Wan could feel the brush of his fingers. It turned his stomach. He’d never liked the way the Chancellor looked at Anakin, but he’d never imagined….

He shook those thoughts away. Swallowed. Ignored Palpatine. “Anakin, I know you’re there. I know - I know you can’t help this.” He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the Chancellor’s fine sleeping chambers. He’d rather bring up memories, recall Anakin’s face, upturned to the summer sky. He’d rather imagine that Anakin really had sucked in a little breath, stiffening across his shoulders.

No one could wake from a vampire’s thrall.

Obi-Wan knew that.

It was not possible to resist the hunger, but, oh, if anyone could...

Obi-Wan set those thoughts aside, feeling his heartbeat growing unsteady. His hands felt numb. So did his lips. “It’s alright,” he said, a croak. He had to believe Anakin could hear him, somewhere down deep. Had to believe that he’d recall this, when he woke, finally, his teeth in Obi-Wan’s neck and Obi-Wan’s body cold and dead below his. “It’s alright,” he slurred, quietly, “I love you. And it’s alright.”

He felt, distantly, Anakin jerk away from him. He heard - or imagined he heard - Anakin take a sharp breath in, cry his name, but it was, surely, just a dying hallucination. He felt cold, cold all over. Cold on his neck, abruptly, and as though he were floating, no longer weighed down at all.

He drifted, hearing screams, terrible screams, not sure why he would imagine such things in his last moments. He wished his mind had granted him something more peaceful, and groaned when hands closed around his shoulders, shaking him. It didn’t seem fair that someone should shake him.

“Gods,” someone rasped over him, voice tight and panicked. Anakin’s voice, he thought, vaguely. “Gods, gods, Obi-Wan, no.” 

And it must have been over, then. Truly over. Obi-Wan shivered, murmured, “It’s alright, Anakin,” and finally, finally, gave himself over to darkness, even as the bed fell away, as he felt arms wrap under his shoulder and knees, lifting him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill. Codywan but post Order 66. VERY UNHAPPY. UNHAPPY AU. SAD ENDING.

“Can I have one last kiss?”

CC-2224 glanced over at the prisoner, the unexpected nature of the request drawing his attention. He’d dealt with all kinds of begging and pleading from rebel worms. None of them had ever requested a last kiss.

Then again, the traitor Kenobi was hardly like most prisoners. He had the highest bounty on his head CC-2224 had ever seen. Lord Vader himself wanted the bastard, and no wonder. He’d killed so many during the war and betrayed everyone.

Kenobi looked little like a warmongering mastermind, at that moment. They’d dragged him out of some hovel in the middle of nowhere on the intel provided by some family living out in the wastes. He’d put up a fight, but they knew all about Jedi tricks.

He’d have been dead, if CC-2224’s orders hadn’t specified that he be taken alive if at all possible. Lord Vader, it seemed, had plans for him.

Currently, he sat slumped against the outside of the ship, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his ankles hobbled together. One of his eyes had stained black and blue. Blood flowed along his hairline and the corner of his mouth. His eyes were tired.

It was the longest CC-2224 could recall ever looking at rebel trash, and he caught himself, jerking his gaze to the side. “Keep your mouth shut,” he said, ignoring the question, ignoring the way Kenobi watched him.

“Oh,” Kenobi said, blue eyes on CC-2224 still. “Come now. We both know what’s going to happen to me after you take me to Anakin. Surely one last kiss, for old time’s sake, isn’t too much--”

He cut off, choking, when CC-2224 drove the butt of his blaster down. It hit the side of Kenobi’s head, sent him sprawling onto his side in the dirt. “Prisoners don’t speak,” CC-2224 snapped, standing over Kenobi’s crumbled form, glad no one else was close enough to overhear the traitor’s mad lies.

CC-2224 had never kissed him. He’d never kissed anyone. Those kinds of lies, though, could be dangerous, if they got to the wrong ears.

He wanted to be sure no one thought he was a rebel sympathizer. As though anyone could sympathize with those kriffing bastards. “A simple ‘no’ would have--”

Kenobi coughed blood across the sand, when CC-2224 kicked him, hard, in the gut. He curled, panting, afterwards, as CC-2224 sank to his haunches, grabbing Kenobi’s dirty hair and jerking his head up, making the traitor look up at him. “Shut your kriffing mouth,” he snapped, “or I’ll break your jaw. Are we clear?”

The other troopers returned, then, their work with the family that had reported Kenobi finished. CC-2224 could smell smoke on the air. “Problems with the prisoner?” one of the troopers asked, looking between CC-2224 and Kenobi’s crumpled form.

“No problems.” CC-2224 grabbed one of Kenobi’s arms, hauling him into the ship. “Is it done?”

“All sterilized,” the trooper said. “There was an extra target, not just the man and the woman. We neutralized it as well, per the Chancellor’s orders.”

CC-2224 nodded, said nothing more as he dragged Kenobi through the ship and into the holding cell they’d designed specifically for him. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him. He made no effort to speak or scramble away, just lay where CC-2224 dropped him, face against the floor, and he could have been dead, if not for the sound of his weeping.

#

CC-2224 avoided the prisoner during their trip across the stars to Mustafar, to Lord Vader, but he could not, quite, avoid thinking about Kenobi. The man had poisoned him, somehow, because he dreamed. CC-2224 had never dreamed, before.

He dreamt each night of the trip, strange, twisting images filling his mind. In the images, Kenobi was always there, sometimes looking serious, sometimes battered, often smiling, soft and warm. 

In many of the dreams, CC-2224 was kissing him, pressed close to his body, so close they shared breath. In many of the dreams, he could see Kenobi’s skin, he was touching Kenobi, their bodies tangled together in some horrific way and--

And it was just dreams. CC-2224 knew what dreams were. Just lies. Fabrications.

It made no sense that the lies led him down to the cell. Kenobi sat in a corner, head bowed down towards his chest. There was blood on his robes, some of it fresh. He stayed still when CC-2224 opened the forcefield and stepped into the room, gave no sign of caring when CC-2224 walked over to stop in front of him.

He’d been that way since they left the planet. Catatonic, according to the medic aboard. He didn’t stir to eat or drink. He ignored beatings. He ignored everything, his eyes empty and his expression blank.

CC-2224 bent enough to grab his hair, pulling his head up and snapping, “What did you do to me?”

Kenobi said nothing. His eyes were unfocused. There were tear tracks, dried across his cheeks. CC-2224 ground his teeth together, but he needed to know. He needed proof the dreams were a lie, some kind of Jedi trick, he--

He’d seen Kenobi’s body, in the dreams. So many times. Seen his hands all over it, but that was--a lie. And he could prove it. He shoved Kenobi over - there was no fight in him, none at all - and pulled at his filthy robes. The guard at the door made no protest. No one cared what they did with rebel trash. Why would they?

CC-2224 pulled the robes open across Kenobi’s chest and froze.

There were scars, where he’d known there would be. There was a cluster of freckles over his collarbone, as CC-2224 had known there would be. There was--

CC-2224 shifted back, his breath loud inside his helmet, a terrible pain in the back of his head. He stood, jerking to his feet, leaving Kenobi sprawled on his side, robes in disarray and he’d hate that, he’d hate not being in order and CC-2224 couldn’t know that.

He took a step back and then another and made it to the head before he tore off his helmet, bent at the waist, and vomited.

#

The images wouldn’t stop. They sleeted through CC-2224’s head. In some of them, Kenobi called him Cody. In some they were laying in a bed not unlike CC-2224’s bunk on the star destroyer he called home most of the time. In some Kenobi was grinning at him, wildly.

They all made CC-2224 hurt, inside his chest, the pain ever-present and deepening. He had no idea what kind of trick it was, but he knew the Jedi couldn’t be trusted. He dared not even inform the medics.

If he’d been corrupted, they would have to deal with him. Terminate him. So he kept the flashes of images to himself, bit down on his tongue, and avoided Kenobi until they finally arrived at Mustafar.

And then some mad itch down his spine made him go down for the prisoner. Kenobi’s robes were thrown haphazardly over him. It had been a long trip, and he hadn’t been able to poison everyone’s minds. Just CC-2224’s.

He looked… nothing like he did in the images in CC-2224’s mind. He looked like a broken toy, curled on his side on the floor, blank-eyed. There were bloody handprints on his skin. Bruises. And in CC-2224’s head, he could hear laughter, a warm voice calling him Cody and saying, “Come here, come here.”

CC-2224 knelt by Kenobi’s head, reached out and touched his jaw, and something about the images forced him to be gentle. There was horror in his head, an emotion he’d never felt beating at his chest in an attempt to get out. This was… wrong. All wrong. Everything was wrong.

“We’ve reached our destination,” he said, and his voice sounded strange. Soft. Kenobi made no sign of hearing him. CC-2224 was going to have to drag him out, deposit him like a broken doll at Vader’s feet.

He had to. Those were his orders. And some Jedi trick that left him feeling like he was being cored out didn’t change his orders.

But.

But his hands shook, strangely, as he reached for his helmet. He lifted it slowly, set it to the side. He had images, so many images, of kissing Kenobi. His mouth. His forehead. His neck, his chest, every inch of his skin. They couldn’t be real. None of this was real. It was all just lies.

But.

But it felt familiar, brushing Kenobi’s hair away from his face. But it felt familiar, fitting a hand to his cheek. But it felt familiar, leaning over, brushing a soft kiss across his battered mouth. He’d asked, before he went away into his head, for one last kiss.

CC-2224 gave it to him. Gentle. Sweet. He hadn’t known he knew how to be those things, until that moment.

And then he pulled his helmet back on, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks, ignoring the pain in his chest, ignoring the ache in his head. And he slid an arm under Kenobi’s shoulders, another under his legs, and lifted him, instead of dragging him by the arms from the ship.

Lord Vader was, after all, waiting.

And CC-2224 had his orders.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill. Established Obikin. AU of the end of ROTS. Implied happy ending.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Padmé asked. She wasn’t the first to put the question to Obi-Wan. People kept asking him, over and over again, their expressions stricken, as though he had somehow not been in full control of his actions.

It was strange, he thought, sitting calmly in the cell beneath the Senate. He’d always been in control of himself. Why should they all assume he had somehow had that control torn away from him?

Still. Padmé looked close to tears, as though she were keeping from weeping only through an extreme force of will. Obi-Wan looked at her, his hands bound - he had let them bind him, afterwards, seen no reason to fight - and said, “Yes, of course.”

“Force, Obi-Wan,” she said, turning her face to the side, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. “You--”

“Is Anakin alright?” he asked. He felt dreamy. Not quite connected to his body. He had, for some time. Ever since he’d walked into the Chancellor’s chambers and seen Anakin on his knees, Palpatine looming over him, the entire space stinking of the Dark Side.

“He’s…” Padmé swallowed. He watched her blink rapidly. “He’ll be fine, you didn’t manage to kill him.”

Obi-Wan blinked, cocking his head to the side. “Kill him?” he asked, remembering the way Anakin had looked at him, the rage in his expression as Palpatine crumpled to the ground in several pieces. But, oh, yes, they had fought, hadn’t they? Briefly. Anakin had been angry with him. Confused. “I would never--”

“You killed the Chancellor,” she cut in, panting, “and you tried to kill Anakin, how can you sit there--”

Obi-Wan stood, head clearing just a bit, and said, “I saved Anakin.”

She shook her head, losing the battle with her tears, turning away from the cell. She did not speak again, as she hurried down the hall, leaving him standing in the cell, his heart beating against his ribs. He had saved Anakin.

He’d always saved Anakin.

They’d see.

Or perhaps they wouldn’t. He found, standing there in the silence, recalling Palpatine’s cackling, horrible visage as he gazed down on Anakin, that he cared little what they thought.

#

“You admit to killing the Chancellor,” Tarkin told Obi-Wan, some time later. They’d dragged him out into a larger room, one surrounded by glass walls. He could see Senators outside the glass, staring in. There were guards in there with him, blaster trained on him.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, because lying seemed pointless. He had cut down Palpatine where he stood, without thought or hesitation. He would do it again. He had felt the intentions in the room. He had sensed the death. Palpatine had Anakin on his knees, of course Obi-Wan had--

There were murmurs all around, looks of shock and horror. Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side. “He’d already killed several Jedi Masters, including Master Windu.”

Tarkin shook his head. “We have only your word on that, Kenobi.” Just Kenobi. As though he were no longer a Master. No longer a General. No longer anything.

“Ah,” he said, “I see.”

“I’m not sure that you do,” Tarkin said, mouth thinning out. “You are being charged with murder. Several counts of it, in fact.”

Obi-Wan took a breath. Lifted his head. He said, “I only killed Palpatine,” and listened to the crowd titter and murmur.

Tarkin narrowed his eyes. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

#

“Can I see Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, when the guards escorted him back to the cell, after his day in court. They did not answer him. They only pushed him into the cell and left him there, with the memories of crossing sabers with Anakin, driving him back, holding him off until he could calm down and see that Obi-Wan had done the necessary thing.

#

It was agreed, over the coming days, that he had not killed his brothers in arms. It was agreed, likewise, that he could have brought Palpatine in alive. That he had used excess force, carved up an old man, currently helpless.

Obi-Wan did not say: he had Anakin on his knees.

He did not say: he was trying to destroy something precious, something I love.

He did not say: I would kill him again, right here, in front of all of you, for what he tried to do.

No one, as far as he was aware, knew that Anakin had been on his knees in that room. None of them knew the part he’d played in what Palpatine had attempted. No one had seen the glow of gold across his eyes, temporary, there and gone.

Obi-Wan kept his silence regarding it. He had always looked after Anakin, after all. And, if someone had to be destroyed by this, by Palpatine’s death, well… He saw no reason that it had to be both of them. 

He had wielded the saber that dealt the killing blows, after all.

#

They called him a rogue agent, in the Senate. An example of Jedi aggression. Something had to be done, they said, and Obi-Wan could imagine what it would be. He would be cast from the Order, if he had not been already. Stripped of all he had built his life on. Most likely thrown in jail, for the rest of his life.

He listened, when Padmé came to explain his situation, and nodded. It was a small price to pay, for doing what needed done, and he felt numb, still. Dreaming or drifting. Waiting to wake up.

#

They brought him before the entire Senate, to read out his verdict. They made him stand in a chilly hallway where he could hear the echoes of twisted rhetoric. Where he could listen to people say he’d been power mad, that he thought he could take the law into his own hands.

He’d only wanted to save Anakin.

But they wouldn’t understand, and he’d known that when he ignited his lightsaber and stepped into the room. He’d done it anyway. He’d do it again, so perhaps they were right. Perhaps he’d gone too far. Perhaps he was a danger to democracy itself, though he doubted it, very much.

There was applause, out in the Senate chamber. He drew in a breath when the guard to his right took his arm, and it was only then that a familiar voice said, “Excuse me.”

He had not seen Anakin since that night in Palpatine’s chambers. Anakin strode back into his life with blazing eyes, gripping the guard’s shoulder, twisting him around, and striking him across the face. “Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, baffled, as Anakin stunned the second guard.

He looked… better. His eyes had cleared of the golden glow. His expression was set and stormy as he grabbed Obi-Wan’s arms, bending over the shackles clasped around his wrists. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Anakin asked, making a little victorious sound as the shackles opened.

“Committing several major crimes,” Obi-Wan said, drily. “I’m supposed to be--”

“We can argue about this later,” Anakin said, grabbing his arm and yanking him forwards, down the hall, away from the main Senate chamber. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan protested, “I’m about to be convicted for murder, if you could--”

Anakin spun, shoving at him, driving him against the wall with his expression fierce and his eyes blazing. “I’m not letting them convict you of anything,” he said, flat and hard. “When we both know you -- you saved me, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and felt like he was waking up, finally. Like he was fighting his way free of the clinging dreams that had held him since he was forced to knock Anakin unconscious, Anakin’s last words had been furious. He’d claimed that Obi-Wan had betrayed him. Damned him. Obi-Wan said, quietly, “You said--”

“I was wrong,” Anakin said, leaning forward and down, pressing a single, hard kiss to his mouth, something Obi-Wan had thought he’d never get again. Not after Palpatine’s chambers. “Now come on, I have a ship waiting, but we need to move.”

“I don’t--” Obi-Wan started, because he’d been fully prepared to spend the rest of his life in a tiny cell, if that was the price for saving Anakin, and--

“You saved me, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, dragging him forward. “Now stop arguing and let me save you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill. Codywan. Angst but with a happy ending.

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Cody snapped, the fourth time General Kenobi suggested that he go scout the area, find the rest of the 212th, and keep going. He had to unclench his jaw to force the words out, breathing hard in the dim light of the cavern.

Kenobi blinked at him, he looked… almost surprised. Tried to shrug and couldn’t. The stone growing up around him - faster and faster by the moment - prevented the movement. “Oh, I don’t know,” Kenobi said, flashing him a smile, and Cody had known him for long enough to identify it as strained. “Strike a dashing pose?”

Cody had to look away from him, swallowing hard. They’d had the argument four times already. Four times since they slipped into this passage on what was supposed to be a covert mission. Four times since some kind of bomb went off along the far wall. Four times since Kenobi grabbed him and shoved him aside, putting his body between Cody and the explosive, his hand raised as though to deflect it with the Force.

That hadn’t worked. There’d been no concussive blow, no fire raining down on them. Instead, there had been the rock - whatever it was - cutting through the air, impacting all down the side of General Kenobi’s body.

At first, Cody had felt giddy with relief. The explosion had been nothing, just some malfunctioning trap. That was before they’d realized General Kenobi couldn’t pull away from the stone. That was before they’d realized it was spreading across him, growing. Encircling his body.

Nothing felt funny, anymore. “I’m not going anywhere,” Cody said, the same thing he’d said every other time General Kenobi brought up the idea. Kenobi sighed, trying to sound long-suffering.

“If the Separatists come back,” he started, gesturing with his free hand towards the droid bodies currently clogging the exit from their little chamber. “You have no cover. We’ve been lucky so far, but--”

“Sir,” Cody interrupted, scowling at the droids, because it was easier than looking at Obi-Wan, stuck in place in the middle of the room, one of his hands still raised, stone encircling the entire limb and spreading down his shoulder, up from his hip, around one of his legs. “They’ll kill you if I’m not here to stop them.”

“I can handle a few droids,” Kenobi insisted, and “I--” and cut off, with a little gasp.

The noise drew back Cody’s attention. He took a step closer, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, demanding, “General?”

“I’m fine,” Kenobi said, panting. “It’s just, ah, squeezing me a bit.” The stone crept further across his chest as Cody watched, stretching across his ribs. 

“Sithspit,” Cody snapped, dragging a hand back over his head, tossing his helmet at the far wall. They’d tried everything, already. Shooting the damn thing had only made it grow faster. As had their explosives. Thanks to the kriffing explosive, the stone had swallowed Kenobi’s left leg completely, in fact, so high up his hip that - even if Cody had been able to prise his lightsaber from his hand - he couldn’t have cut the limb off to get Kenobi out.

Not without killing him.

Cody had been relieved about that, at the time. He hadn’t wanted to think about putting a lightsaber to Kenobi’s flesh, to carving him into pieces to save his life. He’d still had hope, then, that they’d find another way to get Kenobi out.

That hope was gone.

At least Kenobi might have lived, if Cody had moved quickly enough. At least--

“They’re coming back,” Kenobi said, panting for breath, hearing the clack and clatter of droid bodies before Cody picked them up. He swore under his breath and primed his blaster, cracking his jaw side to side as he moved to stand in front of Kenobi. “Commander, you should just--”

“I’m not  _ leaving you _ ,” Cody snapped, without looking over his shoulder, as the first of the droids came into view, and for a while there was nothing but weapons fire, the stench of blaster bolts, and the hot rush of a fight.

A droid tagged him in the shoulder; he’d been slow getting them all. But that was alright. If the bolt were in his shoulder, it meant it wasn’t in Kenobi. It meant they had a little longer to find a solution, a little longer to get out of this mess.

“Alright,” he said, turning back, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, “let’s go over our options, one more time.”

#

They went over their options, one more time. And then another. It didn’t help. No more options magically appeared. The stone simply continued to grow, spreading across Kenobi’s chest, beginning to move upward, towards his shoulders and throat.

Cody flexed his fingers in and out, trying to shove down all the hot emotions in his chest. He’d been trained to handle situations like this calmly. Rationally. To think them through. But he was beginning to think he’d never been in a situation like this.

No one had trained him to stand by, helplessly, and watch the person he -- and watch his General die.

“Hm,” Kenobi said, breaking Cody from the terrible inward spiral of his thoughts. Cody glanced at him - looking at him hurt - and away again.

“Hm what, sir?”

“I think,” he said, his voice strained. “I think they’re trying to communicate.”

Cody did look at him then, for longer than a half-second. “What’s trying to communicate?” he asked, thinking about droids, about the Separatists, roaming through these tunnels. 

Kenobi blinked, his eyes distant. “The rocks,” he said, after a moment, and Cody barked out a harsh laugh. Kenobi didn’t join him, merely looked puzzled. And it was, Cody supposed, hardly the strangest thing that would have happened to them.

“Well, communicate that they need to let you kriffing go,” Cody said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m trying, Commander,” Kenobi said, before stiffening, blinking. This time, Cody heard the clink and clank of the droid bodies before he could speak. ‘We’re going to have--”

“Company,” Cody said, grimly. “I know. Don’t worry, sir.”

#

“You shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way,” Cody said, after the droids were all broken and still. He picked through their bodies, looking for weaponry to replenish his dwindling supplies. There wasn’t much to take, but he gathered what seemed useful.

“What?” Kenobi panted. The stone had almost completely swallowed his chest. It was growing out along the line of his left arm, which he’d stretched out. 

Cody sat heavily against the wall, near him but not close enough to touch the stone, unlatching his shoulder armor, pulling it down. He was bleeding, heavily, underneath it, from a lucky shot during the fight. “Of the explosion. You should of just let it hit me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kenobi said, going thready at the end. His fingers were tinged to blue, the stone tight enough to restrict his circulation. 

“Sir,” Cody said, between gritted teeth, tearing open a bandage and wrapping it around his upper arm. He pulled it tight, but not half so tight as the stone was squeezing Kenobi. “It should be me--”

“No,” Kenobi cut in, some measure of strength back in his voice, iron and certainty.

Cody swallowed, eyes squeezed shut, unsure how to say that he  _ wished  _ it were him, that there was nothing he wouldn’t give to trade places, to give his body over to the stone if it meant Kenobi could walk out of this chamber, that he could-- “I--”

“No,” Kenobi repeated, flat and hard, and Cody nodded. Flexed his fingers in and out. Swallowed around the ache in his throat that was spreading through his chest. “Go over our options again.”

#

They had no options. Maybe they never had. Time sped away and Kenobi’s breathing grew laboured and then thin, each sip of air sorely bought. Cody had given up on pacing, leaning against the wall, instead, his hands on his knees, his own breathing gone sharp and aching. 

“Commander,” Kenobi rasped, the first thing he’d said in too long. Cody couldn’t quite look at him, almost completely consumed by the stone because Cody couldn’t figure out how to kriffing help him. His General was going to die, in the dark, in some kriffing nowhere cave, because he couldn’t figure this problem out. 

“I’m not going anywhere, General,” Cody said, hoping to pre-empt the repeated argument. He couldn't go through it again. 

Kenobi made a soft sound. Half a laugh. “I -- know. I wanted. To tell you. Thank you.”

Cody did look up, then, his eyes burning. Kenobi was staring at him, his eyes fond, expression gentle for all that his body had been almost completely swallowed. The stone was curiously translucent. Cody could see his body through it, crushed and held in place. The stone crept further up his neck.

Cody managed to croak, “What?” He couldn’t imagine what Kenobi would be thanking him for. He’d failed, failed in every conceivable way, and--

“I, ah, I never wanted. To die. Alone.” Kenobi smiled at him, a soft expression. His eyes were wet, shining. “So. Thank you. For staying. With me. I’m glad. Someone will. Be here.”

Cody felt like he was choking, like his throat was full of the stone. Kenobi wiggled his fingers, just a little. They were about the only part of him still mobile. Cody straightened away from the wall, took a step towards him and then another. “I’ll be with you,” he promised, because it was all he had left to offer. “Until the end.”

He slid his fingers across Kenobi’s, careful of the stone creeping over his palm. Kenobi’s fingers were cold. He made a little sound, soft. Wet. Cody leaned forward, careful, careful, so that he could rest their foreheads together. So that Kenobi could feel something besides the cold press of stone, crawling over his chin.

“You need. To stay. Back. Commander,” he panted, and Cody knew there would be only moments before he could not speak anymore. Before the stone took that, too. Cody squeezed his eyes shut; they burned. And considered just… staying where he was. Letting the stone spread across to him, so Kenobi didn’t have to be alone, not ever, so that he’d--

“That’s. An order,” Kenobi rasped out. “Now. Go.”

Cody took a jerked step back, his chest squeezed tight, watching the stone crawl up over his General’s cheeks.He said, crooking his mouth, “Until. The end.” And it covered his mouth, stealing Cody’s chance to gather his courage, to take a kiss, once, before it was too late. It covered his nose. Kriffing hell. Cody’s own breathing sounded too loud in the close space, jagged and broken. 

Kenobi looked at him, eyes bright and hurt, and then he closed his eyes, pale lashes settling on his cheeks, as the stone swept upwards and--

And Cody’s knees hit the ground. He’d believed, a tiny part of him, right up until that moment, that they’d find a solution. That his brothers would burst in, or Skywalker would, that someone would appear and wave a hand and make this alright.

There was a sound in his throat, something like a scream, fighting to get out. He fell forward, hands gripping the sides of his head, because he had failed, failed in every conceivable way, he’d never even - even found the way to shape the words for the things he felt.

He didn’t know what the words were, in any case.

He thought his heart might burst. It hurt, terribly, under his skin. He wept, bitter tears, choking on his grief, and it was then, with his back bowed over, that the stone shattered.

The noise of the explosion was horrific. Cody recoiled back, an arm raised to protect his face automatically. Sharps of stone spun past him and then began swirling through the air, their movements flowing around him without touching him.

Kenobi collapsed in the midst of the swirling stone, limp and boneless, sprawling across the floor. Cody lurched towards him without thinking, grabbing handfuls of his robes, pulling him over onto his back, jamming fingers against his pulsepoint and feeling-- nothing.

He swore, breathlessly, not sure what was happening and beyond caring. Kenobi’s chest wasn’t rising and falling. He wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Cody shifted up onto his knees, hands folding together on Kenobi’s chest, starting compressions automatically.

He felt ribs snap under his hands and winced, but that was--necessary. He’d bring Kenobi back. He might have been unable to stop this from happening, been unable to keep Kenobi alive, but he’d be damned if he weren’t going to drag Kenobi back to the world of the living. 

Cody counted compressions and shifted, tilting Kenobi’s head back, covering his nose, fitting their mouths together and shoving air into his lungs. He stroked Kenobi’s hair, absently, as he moved again, falling into a pattern, desperation fueling his movements and a harsh, flat determination.

He’d keep going until either Kenobi breathed again beneath his hands, or he died. There were no other options Cody was willing to consider, his heart racing, blood burning in his veins, too breathless to plead, to do anything but grapple with death itself and--

And Kenobi coughed, under his hands, trying to roll onto his side. Cody pulled him over, hands touching everywhere as Kenobi shifted, each move short and jerky. He stroked over Kenobi’s hair, over his shoulders, down his side, aware he was speaking but unable to discern any of the words.

He could only curl over, pressing his forehead against Kenobi’s shoulder, gripping at his tunics, relief searing through him so hot and fast that he felt turned to ash inside. “You’re alright,” he gasped, rocking them both back and forth, “you’re alright.”

Kenobi coughed again; it sounded agonized. Cody remembered the feeling of his ribs snapping underhand, and grimaced. “Oh,” Kenobi rasped, reaching out and patting vaguely at his leg, “yes, I was right, the rocks are--”

Cody could not find a single cell in his body that cared about the rocks. He hauled Obi-Wan up, off of the stone, cupped both sides of his face, and kissed him. It seemed the only thing to do to lance the aching pain in his chest.

Kenobi blinked at him when he pulled away a moment later, and he said, “I’m sorry, sir, I know that’s not--”

He stopped talking when Kenobi pulled him back close once more, kissing him hard, for just a moment. “We’ll have to get back to this later,” he said, flashing Cody a smile that was incredibly distracting, even more so than Cody was used to. “Seems we’re trespassing, so, Commander, if you don’t mind, we need to leave.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill. Only background canon pairings. ANGST. UNHAPPY ENDING.

“Is that what you think of me?” 

Anakin startled at the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice. He hadn’t seen his old Master in the hall as he stepped out of the Chancellor’s rooms. He’d been… distracted, thinking about the best way to cut across the Coruscanti traffic to reach Padmé’s apartments. 

He drew up short, hearing the Chancellor’s guards shut the door, leaving him to stare at Obi-Wan in the hall. He looked… ill. Pale. He was not looking at Anakin, his gaze focused, instead, off to one side.

“What?” Anakin asked, feeling a hot prickle down the back of his neck. He ran through the conversation he’d just been having, increasing waves of alarm breaking through his thoughts. How long had Obi-Wan been in the hallway, how--

“That’s what you really think?” Obi-Wan asked, quiet. Calm. Reserved. And Anakin wondered what, exactly, he’d heard. The Chancellor had been speaking loudly, he’d had too much to drink, and Anakin had not said much in return, but he--he hadn’t disagreed, either, with the Chancellor’s opinion that it had been a pity that Qui-Gon had not lived to train Anakin.

That he would have benefited from a Master who better understood him. One with experience training young Jedi. One who understood the will of the Living Force. One who could be… lenient, when the situation called for it.

One who had feelings, and knew how to use them, and, oh, Force, in the moment, it had all sounded so reasonable, but--

Anakin shoved the hot wash of shame up into his throat away, before it could sink teeth into him. He drew his shoulders up, frowned, and said, “Are you eavesdropping outside the Chancellor’s door now, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan blinked, still not looking at him. “No,” he said, quietly. “I was only looking for you.”

“Well, you’ve found me,” Anakin said, hoping, distantly, that they could just - just plow past this. He’d - he’d find out what Obi-Wan wanted, distract him, and then, sometime later, somehow, mention that what he’d overheard had been…

Just letting off steam. Nothing more. Having a conversation with a friend, and Palpatine’s assertion that Obi-Wan would not understand such things because he did not understand friendship lodged itself in Anakin’s throat, choking him. He said, around it, “What did you need?”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan sounded dazed. He looked down at his hands and then off to the side again. “Nothing, it was--nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” He turned, a dazed look on his face as he walked down the hall, and something like horror flowed down Anakin’s spine.

He swore, though it had to be only his imagination, that there was laughter, from the Chancellor’s chambers. He shook his head, following after Obi-Wan. “Hey,” he called, easily catching up, falling into step beside him, “listen, maybe we could--”

“Please, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice still perfectly level. Flat. “Don’t.”

And this was--ridiculous. Anakin reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm. “Stop,” he said, frowning, “you’re not even letting me explain.”

Obi-Wan blinked at his hand. “Were you explaining?” he asked.

“I--” Anakin blew out a breath. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand.”

Obi-Wan made a sound. It took Anakin a moment to identify it as laughter. “I suppose,” he said, his mouth twisted with an emotion that looked nothing like mirth, but only for a moment, “that there is much I have not understood.”

He shrugged free of Anakin’s hold, turning away again, and Anakin swore, furious to be chasing after him when Padmé was waiting. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t his responsibility to tend to Obi-Wan’s feelings, that was what Palpatine had said.

But that didn’t erase the feeling of sickness and dread in Anakin’s gut.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, reaching out again, and Obi-Wan side-stepped his hand without looking. “Force-damnit, Obi-Wan, why can’t you just listen for once?”

Obi-Wan jerked to a stop. His breathing sounded uneven, shredded. He said, still looking forward, his shoulders a stiff, miserable line, “I suppose because I am not him, am I? I’m sorry, Anakin. I wish he had lived for you, instead.”

And he had heard it all, then. Every word of it. Anakin felt cold spreading up through his chest. Cold horror and the taste of vomit in the back of his mouth. “Obi-Wan,” he said, easing a step closer, because he just had to make Obi-Wan see, make him understand. “Master--”

Obi-Wan flinched away from him, recoiled as though struck, and gasped, “Don’t. Do not call me that, Anakin.” He drew in a breath and let it out, shuddery. 

Anakin blinked, trying to clear away the stinging from his eyes, this was all going wrong, all falling apart. He was supposed to be with Padmé. He was-- “It wasn’t what it sounded like,” he said, and Obi-Wan barked out a flat laugh, turning to look him in the eyes, finally.

“No?” he asked, his mouth set in a smile that twisted hard at Anakin’s insides. “No, what was it supposed to sound like, then, when you agreed that it would have been better for us all - for you - if I had died on Naboo, instead?”

Anakin’s jaw locked. His heart thumped at his ribs, as though trying to escape, and he could hardly blame it. He’d seen Obi-Wan wear pain all over his expression before, but he’d never looked quite so broken.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, smiling like a piece of broken glass. “That’s what I thought.” He turned, and walked away, shoulders curling down further with each step, and Anakin found he could not move, that he could not breathe, that he could only watch with the steadily rising surety that his world was coming to an end.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to "Hazards of Strange and Wondrous Things." Cody's feelings about the whole thing. Codywan.

Cody had never expected, really, to get everything - anything - he wanted. He’d long been resigned to the hopeless nature of all the secret, hidden wants that he held inside his chest, hoarding them like precious treasures. He knew exactly what he was - a clone, a soldier, one of many - and he knew exactly what General Kenobi was - a General, for one thing, a Jedi, unique and beautiful and shining.

And so he’d never expected, really, to be able to touch him, skin to skin. He’d contemplated kissing Obi-Wan’s mouth, spent hours thinking about the line of his throat, the strength in his shoulders, the pale expanse of his skin. But he’d never really, seriously, believed that he’d get to act on any of the wants that beat through his veins with each pump of his heart.

Oh, he’d planned to tell Obi-Wan, after the war. To straighten his shoulders and march forward one last time, because something inside him insisted Obi-Wan had the right to know, if nothing else. But he’d been sure what the answer would be; a soft, gentle smile. A shake of the head. Kind words that all added up to  _ no _ .

And the universe gave him all those heavy, twisting wants. It fulfilled them, all at once, dreams and dearly held wishes all brought to fruition, in the worst way possible.

Cody marched into the showers on the little shuttle with stiff legs. None of his joints seemed like they wanted to work. The room was full of steam, the floors wet. He hadn’t been the only one of his brothers to want to get clean, just the last of the bunch, because he’d - he’d had to make sure Obi-Wan was alright, first.

Obi-Wan had been in no shape to clean himself up. And he’d needed to be cleaned up. He’d been just… covered with - with the mess they’d left on him - in him - and - and Cody slammed the side of his fist into the wall as he stepped under the water, breathing hard.

He’d wanted to kiss Obi-Wan for so long. And he’d gotten that wish, gotten to kiss him hard and deep, thorough, but it had been when he was out of his mind. It had been a  _ necessity _ . Obi-Wan had let him press close to save his life, not for anything more, not for anything less, because Obi-Wan was a kriffing Jedi and their General, and Cody had always know that Obi-Wan cared about them, that he’d do whatever he could to keep them safe, but--

But he’d never known exactly how far his General was willing to go until Obi-Wan had let Cody push him against a wall and slide into him, let Cody take everything he needed without a word of complaint, though Cody knew he hadn’t been gentle, not the way he’d wanted to be, and--

And then he’d let five others move just as close. Obi-wan had not turned his face away from any of them, letting them all take and take and take and--

Cody scrubbed at his skin, fiercely, feeling sick inside. He’d wanted to hold Obi-Wan close, and he had, but not with other hands all over Obi-Wan’s skin. It had taken more self-control than he liked to think about to keep from throwing punches. He still felt angry, that rage mixed in with everything else in his head, that anyone else had dared--

But it had been necessary. Walking out of that kriffing station with five dead brothers left behind would have been worse than the way they had walked out. He knew that. He’d known that, even drugged out of his head.

They were his responsibility, his men, the same as they were Obi-Wan’s. 

Same as he was Obi-Wan’s.

He pushed both hands against the wall, leaning over, panting as the burning water poured over the crown of his head, running down his face, his neck, his back. It had been responsibility that had Obi-Wan agreeing to all the things Cody had wanted. It had been responsibility that got Obi-Wan’s thighs on either side of his hips, his mouth gone soft and yielding, head thrown back and--

And now Cody knew exactly what Obi-Wan sounded like when he got kriffed. He knew all the sounds Obi-Wan made, the way his breath hitched, the way he scrambled for something to hold onto, the way his eyes went distant when he was getting it just right, the way he flushed and squirmed when knotted, the way he turned his face, looking for a kiss,  _ wanting  _ to be kissed through it, like he’d gladly spend the entire time they were connected trading hungry, lazy kisses and--

And Cody knew all of it, wishing he didn’t. He’d gotten everything he wanted.

He’d give it all back, if he could.

#

Obi-Wan looked himself again, by the time they caught up with the rest of the 212th the following day. He’d pulled his collar up, perhaps, a little higher than he usually wore it. His mouth looked redder, perhaps. But other than that, there were no visible signs of what they’d all done.

But he didn’t sit down, if he could help it, and he moved gingerly. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Codywan one-shot as a soulmate au. HAPPY ENDING.

Cody was told he’d never see colors.

It wasn’t anything personal, not a flaw with his genetic structure. None of his brothers would ever see colors, according to the Kaminoans. Their progenitor, the man they’d all been based on,  _ had  _ found his fated one, had been able to see colors, but she was years dead by the time they were created.

So, none of them were ever going to see colors. The Kaminoans hadn’t even bothered trying to explain the concept of color. None of them were ever going to see the world in anything other than shades of grey, so what would have been the point?

Cody didn’t think much about it. It was just how things were, and, as far as they were taught, plenty of other people went their whole lives without seeing color, either. Finding your fated one was a rare thing, a precious thing, and Cody’s had died before his genetic material was first introduced into a growth matrix.

Or so he thought, without question, until the day his shuttle landed in the hangar of the  _ Negotiator _ .

He’d waited his entire life for that moment, and felt… not nervy. But full of anticipation. Unsure what to expect, really, despite all the years of training. He’d heard a little about the General he’d be serving. He’d heard plenty about the front where they were to be sent. His mind was full of discussions that needed to be had, busy with plans for battle, as he walked down the ramp, helmet under one arm, his brothers forming up behind him.

He took a breath of the recycled air as he stepped down into the hangar and hesitated in midstep, not even sure  _ why _ . His skin tingled all over, all at once. He felt  _ warmer _ .

“Well, hello there,” a voice said - a  _ perfect  _ voice, one that sounded sweeter than anything he’d ever heard before - and he turned, feeling as though the air around him had suddenly grown thick, catching at his skin. And a - a man was approaching the shuttle, and--

Cody froze into place, because he’d been told he’d never see colors. None of his brothers were ever going to see colors. He didn’t even have  _ words  _ for colors, but-- but the world was changing, in front of him, starting with the eyes of the man who had jerked to a stop as well, staring at Cody with eyes that were  _ sharp  _ and  _ clear  _ and Cody needed to know what color they were  _ immediately _ .

He watched the colors spread, staining the man’s skin, his beard, his hair, his armor, the world beyond him.

Cody was afraid to blink, afraid if he closed his eyes for even a second, the color would wash out again. That whatever was happening was only his… imagination, perhaps. A hallucination. He took in a breath and an itch raced down his spine, warmth flooded his chest and gut.

He heard his helmet clatter to the ground, but it sounded like it came from far away. He moved without thought, crossing the distance to the man - to  _ General Kenobi, _ some distant part of his mind was yelling - not sure what he planned to do once he got there.

He was moving on some kind of strange auto-pilot, as though his legs and arms had decided they knew what to do and that they weren’t going to wait for his mind to catch up. General Kenobi was staring at him, equally unblinking, expression pole-axed as Cody reached him and--

And curled an arm around him, because it seemed very important that he not  _ go anywhere _ . They were of a height with one another, he noted, head bowing without thought, so he could--nuzzle against the General’s neck, breathing in deep as Kenobi tilted his head to the side, making a little choking sound in his throat.

He smelled  _ so good _ , perfect. Cody made a sound, pleased, when Kenobi put a hand on his shoulder, sliding his palm up, skin brushing the back of Cody’s neck, and he didn’t know what was going on, but he cared less and less with each passing heartbeat.

Someone was making noise, close by, but it was very hard to care. Not when he could rub his cheek against the side of Kenobi’s throat - scent marking, a distant little part of his mind, one that had been paying attention back on Kamino, informed him - and then press his mouth to skin.

It felt  _ natural  _ to open his mouth, feeling Kenobi gasp at the drag of teeth over skin, and there was no thought to anchoring a hand in Kenobi’s hair to hold him still, and--

“--Commander!” someone yelled, almost right in his ear, and there were hands, pulling at him. He snarled, the expression feeling strange and utterly natural, all at the same time, right into the face of one of his brothers. He could  _ hear  _ the sound coming out of his chest and it was totally unfamiliar, low and deep.

His brother tripped back a step, hands up, but there were more of them, including one speaking into a radio, saying, “--don’t know, but he’s attacking General Kenobi, sir--”

Which was  _ ridiculous _ , he’d never let anyone hurt Kenobi, and-- and two of his brothers  _ were  _ trying to pull Kenobi away. Cody didn’t truly recall throwing the first punch, later. He didn’t remember much of anything that happened over the next sixty seconds, until one of his brothers apparently decided to de-escalate matters by hitting him in the back with a stunner.

#

Cody woke up in the medical bay, with restraints around his wrists. He tugged against them, scowling and attempting to put his memories into some kind of order. It was difficult to focus on that when he opened his eyes and found the world all in color.

He really had stepped onto the  _ Negotiator  _ and had the impossible happen, then. He twisted his arms against the restraints, and said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Ah, you’re awake,” a medic said, wandering over to him, looking a bit awkward. “Do you… mm. Do you not remember?”

“I remember.” Cody remembered the way Kenobi had smelled, the way his skin had tasted. 

The medic nodded, making a note on the pad he held. “Do you know why you attacked General Kenobi?”

Cody blinked at him, taking in the color of his hair, his eyes, his skin. He craned his head to look down at himself, wishing there was a mirror around. “I didn’t attack him,” he said, offended that they’d even suggest it. He tugged on the restraints again.

The medic made a little noise. “According to reports--”

“That wasn’t an attack,” someone said from the doorway. Cody looked up, frowning at the tall man leaning there. He had dark eyes, hair in yet another color Cody didn’t know. Something about his scent bothered Cody, which was… odd. He couldn’t recall caring much how people smelled, before.

“General Skywalker,” the medic said. “I heard that he tried to bite General Kenobi. That’s--”

“Not an attack,” Skywalker said, frowning at Cody. “Was it, Commander?”

“I’d never hurt him,” Cody said, indignant and irritated. “And if anyone else did, I’ll…” He trailed off, uncomfortable with the anger in his chest. He’d not really experienced  _ anger  _ before, either. It was an unpleasant feeling, all hot and sharp inside his skin.

The medic shifted, looking uncomfortable. “General, I don’t think you heard me. He tried to  _ bite-- _ ”

“Master Obi-Wan, yes, I heard. And Obi-Wan wasn’t really trying to fight him off, was he?” Skywalker seemed… frustratingly calm about this enter thing. And Cody still didn’t like the way he smelled. He scowled. “Force,” Skywalker said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Force, did they tell you  _ anything  _ about fated ones on Kamino?”

Cody glanced at his brother, who shrugged back at him. “Not really, sir. We don’t have one.”

Skywalker heaved a sigh and looked at him. “Surprise,” he said. “ _ You  _ do.”

#

Cody listened to General Skywalker’s explanation, half-sure he was dreaming. When he finished, the medic said, “I don’t see how this could be possible. We were told our progenitor’s fated one died long ago.”

Skywalker shrugged. “You’re not your progenitor,” he said, like an explanation for how Cody had taken one look at Obi-Wan and  _ known  _ that Obi-Wan was his. “And you can see colors now, can’t you, Commander?”

Cody nodded. They’d released the restraints around his arms while talking, and, while it was taking effort, he was resisting the urge to stalk off and find Kenobi. He got the feeling it wouldn’t be difficult. There was a tugging inside him, urging him to get up and go. He ignored it.

“Obi-Wan, too,” Skywalker said, shaking his head. “Since he saw you. So…” he gestured out to the side. “That’s pretty conclusive.”

“Why isn’t he telling me all this?” Cody asked. He wanted to be where - where Obi-Wan was, but he’d woken up in the infirmary, alone. And hadn’t they been taught that the Jedi didn’t have attachments? Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t want him, even if they were fated, perhaps--

“He’s trying to give you some space,” Skywalker said. “He said this would probably be a lot for you to take in. Also, Commander, with the way you reacted, I’m…. not sure he’d have the chance to explain anything.”

Cody remembered the warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin, the taste of him, the ache in his jaw. He said, stiffly, “I wouldn’t--if he didn’t want--”

“I know,” Skywalker said, looking to the side. “Believe me, I know you wouldn’t do anything to him. He’s your fated one. You couldn’t. But he wasn’t protesting, was he? Honestly, we’re probably lucky you got stunned. If you hadn’t, you two would probably still be in the hangar, making everyone uncomfortable.”

Cody thought about that. He’d gotten a crash course in, what, exactly they’d been gearing up to do. He felt heat prickle across his skin and a fresh wave of bitterness that he’d been interrupted. Some of it must have shown on his face, because Skywalker cleared his throat and said, “Anyway, he wants to give you a chance to think about what  _ you  _ want, without him… confusing the issue. It’s considered polite to let both people think about it, if possible, before...”

Cody frowned at him. “Did you… think about it, sir?”

Skywalker blinked, looking taken about for a moment, and then flashed him a grin. “I thought about it for years. I found my fated one when I was nine.”

Cody blinked. “I’m not much older, sir.”

“Yeah. I was about half your size, though. I didn’t have… uh. Urges. It was almost six years before I even thought about wanting to bite her.” Skywalker leaned back on his chair. “Obi-Wan’s worried about it, though. It’s why he wants you to have plenty of time to…” He waved a hand. “Decide if you want to go somewhere else for a few years. Or whatever.”

Cody didn’t know how to tell him that the distance didn’t really help. Or that he didn’t want to go anywhere, except to wherever Obi-Wan had hidden himself away. He only nodded and tried to think clearly. “It’s up to me? They won’t… send me away?”

Skywalker blinked and shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not unless you want to go. Separating fated pairs is bad business.” 

Cody took some comfort in that, but had to press onward, had to ask, “But the Jedi…?”

“Not even the Jedi argue with that,” Skywalker said, with a fast little smile. “I should know. So, just… think about all of this. Obi-Wan’ll give you time.”

He made to step back, and Cody straightened. “Wait,” he said, swallowing hard, “wait, I don’t - I don’t know the names for any of the colors I can see.”

“Ah,” Skywalker said, something soft crossing his expression, his smile turning into something gentle. “Well, I can help you with that.”

#

Obi-Wan had  _ blue eyes _ . He had  _ reddish hair _ . Copper, Skywalker said. He wore  _ cream robes _ . He had a  _ blue  _ lightsaber. Cody hoarded all the names for these parts of his fated one, held them tight and repeated them, over and over.

He read all the information that could be found regarding fated pairs, regarding what they’d be to one another. He’d been trained to be nothing if not thorough. To be in control, to assess a situation before charging into the fray.

He  _ could  _ leave. Board a transport, watch the  _ Negotiator  _ fade into the distance. They’d send him to another General, if that was what he wanted. Some pairs did, he read. Some people couldn’t bear the thought of the intimacy of a fated bond. They didn’t want the risks that came with it.

A surprising number of people left their fated one and never looked back, if they didn’t spontaneously bond the instant they met, the way Cody and Obi-Wan nearly had. Perhaps it was a way to protect their hearts or their freedom or…

Cody wasn’t sure.

He had no intention of going  _ anywhere _ .

#

“You’re not alone,” Skywalker said, the day Cody finished reading absolutely everything he could get his hands on regarding fated ones, the expectations on him, what it would mean for them both. He glanced up.

“What?”

Skywalker fell into step beside him, grinning, “To see colors. Word is General Secura’s Commander took one look at her and threw her over a shoulder. They haven’t been out of her quarters in two days.” Cody hesitated in midstep, and Skywalker continued, “I wouldn’t think about trying it with Master Obi-Wan.”

Cody was  _ already  _ thinking about trying it with Obi-Wan. Throwing him over a shoulder had a certain deep appeal. He said, “Thank you for letting me know, General.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Skywalker called after him, when Cody turned, heading for the lift that would take him further into the ship, falling the call in his blood.

#

Cody found Obi-Wan in one of the  _ Negotiator’s  _ cargo bays, frowning over a ship that appeared to be mostly in pieces. He looked up as soon as Cody entered the large space,  _ blue  _ eyes catching the light and widening,  _ copper  _ hair falling forward over his forehead.

“Commander,” he said, the other troopers around him glancing between them, expressions openly curious. He turned back to the troopers, keeping his gaze on Cody, and continued, “I think that’s enough for the day. We’ll discuss the finer points of fighter repair in greater detail tomorrow.”

The troopers filed out, and Cody exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing, just a bit. He hadn’t  _ liked  _ the way they stood around Obi-Wan, an issue that - according to the literature - would only get worse, at least for a time, before their connection settled.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asked, shifting to straighten up the area. Cody took a step closer, breathing in deeply and feeling his pulse speed up.

“Good,” Cody said, and his voice came out hoarse. It was, he realized, a little startled, the first thing he’d actually  _ said  _ to his fated one. There’d been no words between them, before. Nothing but their connection. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat. His accent was smooth and perfect and Cody hoped, vaguely, that he got to listen to it everyday for the rest of his life. “I trust Anakin spoke with you about…” He gestured, vaguely, out to one side.

“Being fated,” Cody supplied, and watched a flush climb up Obi-Wan’s throat just from his voice. It hit him, low in the gut. “He did.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, heavily. “Good, that's… Well.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to make a decision now, obviously, you may take--”

“You get to make a decision here, too,” he cut in, taking another step closer. Obi-Wan shifted to face him, breathing coming a little faster. The appeal of him wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been that day in the hangar, when Cody had been in no way prepared for it, but it was still there, a powerful pull on each cell of his body. “What do you want?”

“I…” Obi-Wan wetted his bottom lip, his gaze dipping and then jerking back up. “Don’t want to influence you, Comman--”

“Cody,” he interrupted, and another step brought him close enough that he could reach out and touch. He didn’t, but his fingers twitched with wanting to. “Call me Cody, please.”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, and his name had never sounded right until that moment, never before been spoken the right away. His resolve, what remained of it, crumbled to dust, and he moved forward, hand curled against Obi-Wan’s neck, dragging himself to a stop with his mouth a breath away from taking the kiss he wanted so badly.

Obi-Wan panted against his mouth, blue eyes wide, hands clenched around Cody’s arms. Cody blinked, wrestling to regain some meagre measure of control, enough to rasp, “I know what I want. What do  _ you  _ want?”

“The Jedi are taught to believe that a fated bond is a blessing of the Force,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, which wasn’t an answer.

“So I’ve heard,” Cody said, drowning in the temptation of him. “I need to know what  _ you  _ believe.”

“I believe,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, “that I have been waiting for you to kiss me for days.”

Cody shivered, closing the last of the distance between them. He’d never kissed anyone before, never  _ wanted  _ to kiss anyone before. He felt half-starved, groaning when Obi-Wan shifted, changing the angle to something slick and good and--

Cody needed him  _ closer _ . Everything else fell away, dropping to some sub-level of importance that could not even be measured, it was so minuscule. He curled an arm around Obi-Wan, wondering, absently, why the kriff he’d thought putting on his armor was a  _ good  _ idea, exactly, when all he wanted was to get as close as it was possible to be.

He pushed, just a little, and Obi-Wan gave ground, walking backwards until there was nowhere else to go, until they found a wall. He thought maybe they should speak more, discuss-- but it was so kriffing hard to  _ care _ .

He didn’t know about the will of the Force, not in any way, shape, or form. But he knew it felt  _ right _ to shift his attentions down the line of Obi-Wan’s throat, Obi-Wan tilting his head to the side in accommodation, his pulse beating against his skin as Cody tasted skin and sweat and--

And he could feel Obi-Wan’s arm around his shoulders, cradling him closer, even as Obi-Wan rasped, into the overheated air between them, “Wait.”

Cody froze, teeth brushing skin, aching all over. He wanted to just… bite down. His jaw burned with the urge. But he’d been taught control if he’d been taught anything. He swallowed convulsively, hands gripping at Obi-Wan’s tunic, at his thigh; somehow, he’d hitched Obi-Wan’s leg  _ up _ against his hip, pressing between his legs and it was a kriffing pity he couldn’t feel  _ anything  _ with the armor in the way.

“Not--” Obi-Wan cleared his throat; his voice still sounded ragged when he spoke. “Not in the  _ cargo bay _ , we may be… engaged for two days, that’s--”

Cody snorted, shifting enough to kiss his perfect mouth. He’d thought, for a beat, that he was to be sent away. And while he wanted to seal their connection, to take what fate had set forth and confirm it, he could wait until they were somewhere besides the cargo bay.

Perhaps.

If they hurried.

“Alright,” he said, drawing back after a kiss that left him feeling half-drugged. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes were so wide and warm. He looked pleasantly stunned, as well, when Cody bent, pulled him forward, and straightened, Obi-Wan’s weight across his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan demanded, when Cody curled an arm up to keep him steady, hand closing around his thigh again.

“Going somewhere not the cargo bay,” he said, turning, the layout of the  _ Negotiator  _ etched into his memory. He’d, maybe, been obsessively thinking about the fastest way to get to Obi-Wan’s quarters from anywhere on the ship.

He put the knowledge to very good use.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mermay Obikin AU set in a fantasy world.

Anakin wasn’t supposed to be down in the bottom-most level of the ship. No one was, really, without permission of the Captain and he wasn’t looking to offer such permissions freely, not with the cargo they carried. But Anakin, particularly, wasn’t supposed to be down there, and it had naught to do with orders.

Anakin was supposed to be up in the rigging. It was where he belonged, high over the ship and the sea, nothing but wind and snapping sails around him, his fingers curled around the ropes, pulling ever higher.

The sky called to him, all the time. The rigging was the closest he could get to it, most times. It was dangerous to get any closer.

It was dangerous, too, to be slipping down the stairs, down into the hold during the middle watch, when he was supposed to be asleep in his hammock with most of the rest of the other sailors. There were only a few of them awake, watching the deck, keeping the  _ Resolute  _ tacking into the wind, northward, towards the fine, sprawling city of Coruscant with their prize.

Anakin had never minded a little danger. His heart beat hard but his hands were steady as he stepped - barefoot - off the last step. Down in the lowest level of the ship the wood was always wet. The smell of the damp crawled into his throat. It wasn’t the smell of the sea, exactly. The air was spoiled and tight.

Tainted with the stink of blood and… other things.

Anakin crept forward in the light of the single lantern hanging in the hall. He had to bend to proceed, the level not tall enough to allow him to straighten to his full height, towards the hold at the far end, what they’d once used to store planking and coils of rope, all hastily cleared out to make room for their prize.

He hesitated at the door, but only for a moment, before he gripped the knob and pulled it open.

The smell was worse, inside. He’d been prepared for it, braced for the stench of blood. It still made his mouth twist. The light from the lantern flickered into the dark space beyond, showing movement, smooth and fast. Chains clicked against one another. The light reflected off the metal, off of copper hair and pale skin and a stretch of blue scales.

“I’m not in the mood for visitors at the moment,” their prize - Obi-Wan, according to him, Anakin had been able to get  _ that  _ much information out of him in their brief snatches of conversation - rasped. He sounded terrible. He’d sounded worse and worse, each time Anakin slipped down to speak with him. 

“It’s me,” Anakin said, quietly, slipping through the door. His eyes were adjusted well to the dim light, and perhaps it would have been better were they not. He could see the blood dried to Obi-Wan’s throat, left behind by the heavy chains around his neck. They should never have wrapped them around such delicate skin, the damage had been near immediate and only grown worse with each day.

And that wasn’t… the worst of it. Anakin swallowed, looking across bruises and marks that had turned Obi-Wan to a multitude of different colors. His arms were pinned behind his back, and Anakin didn’t have to see to know his hands had been wrapped cruelly, fingers folded close to his palms and pinned there.

After all, it was dangerous to allow him any movement. He’d proved that on deck, when they’d finally managed to pull him from the water, the scales on his legs melding into flesh, his expression vicious as he pulled the ocean itself upwards with his will, crashing a wave across the deck, snagging the sailors attacking him with tendrils of water, a force of nature itself, terrible and beautiful all at once.

Anakin had watched the attack unfold from above, from his place in the rigging, frozen.

He’d heard tell of the merfolk. All sailors had. But he’d lost hope in believing they were real. In believing that anyone like him was real.

And then he’d… noticed something, a flash of strange movement, shadowing their ship. He’d told himself it was nothing, the first time he saw a long blue fin moving through the water. But it had been impossible to deny the second time it happened, when a head broke through the waves, sharp blue eyes scanning across the ship, as though  _ looking  _ for something.

Looking for him, he knew by the time he knelt beside Obi-Wan, his fingers clenched tight around the keys he’d taken from the Captain’s quarters, and there’d be hell to pay for what he was doing with them.

When he’d asked, the first time he came here, why Obi-Wan had approached the ship to begin with, why he’d put himself in the position to end up chained here in the hold, abused and bent to the Captain’s cruel whims, Obi-Wan had looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I felt you, of course.”

“Felt me,” Anakin had said, standing at the edge of the doorway, heart beating at his ribs, shivering though it was not cold. “What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan had smiled at him, his mouth bloody and his eyes sharp. “I mean,” he’d said, “that I sensed you. The same way you sense me. Like calls to like.”

“I’m not like you,” Anakin had said, the lie springing to his lips without thought, even as the skin of his arms itched all over, an itch he never answered, could never answer. 

Obi-Wan had only watched him, the gills on his ribs yet undamaged, and said, calmly, “Yes, you are.”

Anakin had shut the door, that night, shut it and rushed away, up the stairs, up onto the deck and into the rigging, as high as he could get to gulp at the fresh air, fighting down the shift that called beneath his skin.

It was not scales that wanted to break out across his skin. It had never been scales.

The sky called to him, not the sea. He ripped out the feathers that escaped his control, long and lean over fingers that were trying to meld together. He tore them out desperately, because no one could know, no one could ever know, or it would be  _ him  _ down in the hold, him they dragged up to the main deck and held down to make an example of, him--

He’d tossed the feathers over the side, down into the sea, rubbing away the blood on his hands, until the urge to change passed and he could breathe again.

Down in the hold, Anakin pushed all those memories away. They wouldn’t serve him at the moment. He turned the key in the lock, Obi-Wan watching him carefully, his blue eyes guarded when he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here,” Anakin said, his tongue heavy, but his hands stayed steady. The chains around Obi-Wan’s neck loosened and Anakin caught them, set them aside, trying not to look too closely at the ruin beneath.

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked. His skin felt gritty, filthy under Anakin’s hands as Anakin pulled him around, reaching for the bindings around his arms. The delicate scales down his forearms were damaged. Many of them were scattered across the wooden floor, perfect and pale blue.

That damage felt profane, but not as horrific as the way his gills had been damaged. Anakin swallowed his gorge, and said, “Because - because they’re going to kill you, if I don’t. And I can’t - I can’t let them hurt you, anymore.”

Obi-Wan made a little sound, half a laugh. He rasped, his voice ruined from all he’d been put through, “So, you do have feelings.”

Anakin flinched, but made himself stay focused on the bindings, unwrapping the ropes. They left indents into Obi-Wan’s pale forearms and wrists. His fingers were almost white. He made a terrible, hitching sound when the last of the bindings came off, pulling his arms around to his chest, curling over them.

Anakin hesitated, then. Obi-Wan looked… smaller. So much smaller than he had when they first dragged him on deck. Part of that was his legs, Anakin knew, logically. His fin had been long and so beautiful, shifting across the deck, slamming one sailor fully into the sea in a single powerful movement before he gave himself legs.

The Captain had spent a tremendous amount of time trying to make Obi-Wan change back. He had yet to give in, no matter what they did to him. They’d all been horrified by the change, all of Anakin’s shipmates.

It had made Anakin itch, his arms burning as he watched.

They’d do the same to him, he knew, if they ever found out.

“I,” he swallowed, saying nothing of his feelings, “we have to get you out of here.” Obi-Wan nodded and shifted, slowly bracing a hand on the floor and attempting to push himself up. He fell back almost immediately, swallowing a scream. Anakin had heard him do that too often in the past days.

Anakin swore, softly, reaching out and gripping his arm, pulling him up carefully. “Will you… if I get you to the water, can you even swim?” It seemed a major concern, when Obi-Wan attempted to take some of his weight and failed, staying slumped against Anakin’s side.

He nodded. “Yes,” he panted. “The water...will help.”

“Good,” Anakin said, and lifted him bodily, because sooner or later  _ someone  _ was going to realize he was not in his hammock. Sooner or later someone would come down here to visit the prisoner. Sooner or later they’d be out of time.

“Once I get you to the water, you need to get away from here as quickly as you can,” Anakin said, keeping his voice quiet as he stepped from the terrible room. “Dive deep, or… I don’t know. Whatever. Just  _ go _ .”

Obi-Wan flexed one of his hands and winced, a hiss of sound. There was color coming back into his skin, though. The webs between his fingers were turning blue once more. Anakin didn’t know why he hadn’t made a complete transformation. Maybe he couldn’t. There’d be no time to ask, to learn more about others like Anakin.

Obi-Wan rasped, as Anakin shifted his hold to ascend the stairs, “That sounds a lot like ‘goodbye.’”

Anakin hesitated, one foot on the bottom rung. He said, slowly, “I - I guess it is.”

Obi-Wan shifted in his hold and said, “You’ll be punished, when they realize what you did.”

Anakin shrugged. His shoulders, by all rights, should have been burning. They would have been, were he human. But he wasn’t, and his shoulders and arms had muscles foreign to all the other sailors on the ship. Flight muscles, aching to stretch and beat at the air, to fill with thermals… 

Obi-wan was no weight at all.

He said, “They might not realize.”

“They will,” Obi-Wan said, sure as the sea itself, squirming as though he intended to drop himself down to the ground.

Anakin tightened his grip, snapping, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me,” Obi-Wan said, pushing at him with arms that barely had any strength left in them. “Just… put me back. Let them do what they want, it’s--”

Anakin ignored him and began climbing the stairs. “You’re going back home,” he said, firmly. “Now be quiet.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin regretted sharing his name, because something about the way Obi-Wan said it hit him low in the gut, every time. He made it sound like something special, when Anakin’s name had never meant much of anything to anyone. He swallowed, shoving those feelings aside. 

“I said--”

“Come with me,” Obi-Wan said, and he was quiet, at least, his mouth close to Anakin’s ear. And Anakin… hesitated. Swallowed.

“I can’t,” he said, after a moment, shaking his head. “This is my life, I can’t just--”

“Sooner or later, they’ll find out what you are,” Obi-Wan said, sure and without cruelty. “And they’ll do to you what they’ve done to me.” Anakin had been so worried, when this nightmare started, that Obi-Wan would  _ tell them _ , but he had not, he’d kept his peace through everything they’d done and--

And Anakin blinked away the wetness in his eyes. No one that he could remember had ever done him a favor just to do it. No one had ever wanted him to  _ come with them _ , offered a way out of a life spent in fear that he would be discovered…

He said, “I can’t go with you. I don’t - I don’t have fins or gills, Obi-Wan.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, sure as they reached the top of the stairs. “It’s wings, isn’t it?”

Anakin didn’t ask how he knew. Couldn’t. He pushed the hatch open and moved upwards and through. There would be people awake, up ahead. He ran out of time to hush Obi-Wan again, could only carry him along, nerves strung tight, resisting the urge to just stretch his legs and  _ run  _ for it.

They made it almost all the way to the deck before someone turned a corner and spotted them. Anakin swore, softly, and charged forward even as the man opened his mouth to yell out. Anakin ran into him, shoulder first, and kept going, scrambling to keep his feet.

From behind, shouts rose up, the ship sounding like a furious beast awoken unwillingly from sleep. Obi-Wan clung to him as Anakin sprinted up the last stairs to the deck, emerging stumbling into the nighttime air.

A rifle shot went off as he emerged, blinding and hot and it hurt, across his brow. For a moment he thought himself killed, but he continued to think, though he reeled backwards. Only the knowledge that he could not drop Obi-Wan on the deck kept him upright. If he dropped Obi-Wan, all of this would have been for nothing.

There were more shots, the watch turning rifles on them. Anakin tripped a step backwards, unsure what to do and--

And, in his arms, Obi-Wan was shifting again, arms outstretched. Anakin  _ felt  _ it as the ship moved, creaking ominously as the sea beneath them changed. The wave that crashed over the deck was easily ten feet high. It swept across the deck like the fist of some furious sea god, and not a drop of water touched Anakin.

In the aftermath, the deck was quiet. From below there was yelling. Any moment, more sailors would burst up through the hatch. But for just a beat, it was only the two of them, Anakin breathing hard, tasting the salt on the air, the wind tugging at his hair.

He said, numb, “How do you do that?”

Obi-Wan sagged against him. “It only takes practice,” he said. “It’s natural to our kind. You can likely do the same with the winds.” Anakin shook his head, and remembered how to move, walking towards the edge of the ship. “Come with me,” Obi-Wan said.

“I can’t,” Anakin reached the railing. The water below looked choppy. In the distance, he could see sailors, bobbing up and down. The waves were swallowing them up, one after another. He shivered. “I have to--”

Obi-Wan’s hand on his cheek was cool, his webbing smooth as silk. He turned Anakin’s head, shifting up, and suddenly his mouth was on Anakin’s and, oh--

“Come with me,” Obi-Wan repeated, against his mouth, and there were shouts from Anakin’s back, furious voices. Anakin swallowed and did what had to be done, using all the strength in his arms and shoulders to toss Obi-Wan out, over the railing, down into the dark water.

It closed over his head, and Anakin hoped he’d been telling the truth when he said he was strong enough to swim.

Anakin turned, then, to face the onrushing members of the crew and all of their rifles. He was covered in blood, all of it Obi-Wan’s. He had no doubt that they would not understand what he had done, but he felt… Good, all at once. He smiled, raggedly, preparing for whatever came next and--

And Obi-Wan shouted, from down in the water, “Anakin! Please!”

Anakin turned his head, just enough to see him, rising and falling with the waves, his copper hair plastered to his head. A gun cocked. Anakin flinched, and the ocean reached up, overrunning the deck as Obi-Wan raised a hand, down there in the dark sea.

And they would kill him. Kill him slow and cruel.

But more than that, beyond even the threat of death, Anakin thought about changing his skin as easily as Obi-Wan did. He thought about the wings he never showed. He thought of ‘our kind’ and shivered.

Men screamed and tried to scramble back below decks. Anakin looked out across the water, up into the sky. He swallowed, and reached for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one after another, tossing the fabric to the side.

Out in the water, he could see Obi-Wan smiling.

“Where will we go?” he asked, feeling strangely calm as he stepped onto the railing of the ship. His skin prickled, all across his arms and shoulders. He felt the change coming, an itch as his arms lengthened, as the feathers erupted from his skin all in a rush. 

“We’ll find a place,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin, believing him, stretched his wings and threw himself into the air.


	11. "Can't you see how fucked up this is?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill! Pre-obikin. Still for the angst meme, but this one is not that sad, really.

“Can’t you see how fucked up this is?” Anakin asked, following Obi-Wan into the room where he was supposed to prepare for this invasion - ritual, the locals said - and scowling. Obi-Wan flashed him a look over his shoulder, chiding.

“I’m not sure that’s the best attitude to take to our new friends,” Obi-Wan said, as the doors shut behind them, leaving them in a cool, dim space. “After all, they’re only going to--”

“Look into your head,” Anakin snapped, prowling past a cistern - there was a rag over the edge of it - and lifting the gauzy robes that, apparently, they intended for Obi-Wan to put on. It looked mostly translucent, but then, the Icharians were very into openness and sharing, weren’t they? “Dig around inside your thoughts.”

Anakin shuddered, keeping his face turned away from Obi-Wan. When the Icharians had first floated the idea, he’d been horrified, and the feeling hadn’t really gone away. The thought of someone else scouring his thoughts was -- a nightmare.

He’d refused outright, probably too quickly, if the look Obi-Wan had shot him was anything to go by.

And Obi-Wan, a breath later, had agreed.

“It’s the only way they’re going to trust us enough to help us find the downed shuttle,” Obi-Wan said, reasonable in the face of an unreasonable request. Anakin frowned, reaching the end of the room and turning - pacing - in time to watch Obi-Wan pull off his outer tunic. “The lost Senators are counting on us, Anakin.”

“I know that.” Anakin looked away; he no longer remembered exactly when watching Obi-Wan undress had started feeling illicit, but it had been long enough that he was used to the heat it brought to his skin, the tang of shame in the back of his throat.

It was one of the many, many reasons he’d refused the Icharians a look inside his head. No one could ever be allowed to know the things he wanted. He cleared his throat. “I just think that what they’re asking to do to you is…” He flexed his fingers in and out. “It’s just wrong, that’s all.”

Obi-Wan sighed, stepping over to the cistern, naked save for a brief stretch of fabric around his hips, and Anakin had intended not to look - he always intended not to look - but he couldn’t help cutting his eyes to the side. Stealing glances. “It really isn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s just--”

“Their way,” Anakin said, heaving a sigh. “I know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a breath. “Fine. Here. Give me that. I’m supposed to help.” That had been, after all, part of the instructions. In fact, one of the Icharians was supposed to be helping, but they’d managed to keep them out of the room with the promise that Anakin would assist.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, expression distracted, “that’s alright, I can--”

“Don’t start arguing now,” Anakin said, plucking the rag from his hands and frowning at the expanse of his back, the line of his spine, freckles scattered here and there, all the way down. He swallowed, immensely relieved that no one could see his thoughts at that moment, and dragged the rag down.

Obi-Wan shivered, but, then, it was cool in the room.

#

Obi-Wan got cleaned up. He pulled on the gauzy robe, the lines of his body visible right through it. He took a breath and didn’t protest when the Icharians showed up to escort him into a large chamber.

Anakin was growing to very much dislike hiveminds. He knew, logically, that they were no worse than any other people. But he couldn’t help the way they made him nervous, especially when they were shuffling Obi-Wan away from him, closer to the center of the room.

Anakin scowled and threaded his way over to Ahsoka, standing beside Cody and looking ill-at-ease. “Are we really doing this?” she asked, quietly, as the Icharians coaxed Obi-Wan to kneel. They were a tall people, with huge, unblinking eyes. They clicked, constantly, as they moved around, little noises in their throats, though they spoke galactic standard well enough.

“Seems we are,” Anakin said, with a suppressed shudder. Obi-Wan seemed calm enough, as one of the Icharians stepped up behind him, three fingered hands cupping the back of his head.

They hadn’t received much information about what was going to happen. Just that the Icharians would - as a whole, Anakin supposed - peer into Obi-Wan to determine what type of people they were.

Apparently, the Icharians had gone through some… unpleasant interactions with outsiders. The ritual was the defensive mechanism they’d developed, to find out who they could or could not trust.

Anakin frowned. If they ended up doing anything untoward to Obi-Wan, they were going to end up dealing with another unpleasant interaction. He shifted, uncomfortable, as the room fell abruptly silent. In the middle of the space, Obi-Wan went stiff, chin jerking up as his eyes rolled back.

“Master?” Ahsoka asked, quietly. Cody’s hand had come to rest on his blaster. Anakin took some comfort in knowing that no one else liked this, anymore than he did.

“I think it’s normal,” Anakin said, though he was damned if he had any idea at all. Certainly the little gasping sounds that echoed from the Icharians made the hair stand up on his neck, but nothing seemed to be… going wildly wrong. He almost relaxed.

And then the Icharian touching Obi-Wan made a sound, startled and loud. Hurt. The others echoed it, and Anakin flexed his fingers in and out, his stomach getting hard and tight. He had a bad feeling about being trapped in a room with all of these people. The feeling only got worse when he looked back at Obi-Wan, and found tears streaming from his open, unseeing eyes.

Anakin took a step forward, because enough was enough and--

And emotion hit Anakin like a wave, trying to pull him under. It radiated from around the room - from the Icharians, he assumed - not that the source of it mattered very much. It  _ hurt _ , terribly, digging into him like fangs and claws.

Sadness, grief, loss, a desperation that swam up into his throat and tried to drown him. Beside him, Ahsoka went to one knee. Anakin reached to steady her even as his eyes burned and stung. Cody leaned over at the waist, retching, and still the emotion beat at them, sharp edged as a knife, cold and terrible and--

And the Icharian holding Obi-Wan jerked away from him, curling over as though hurt, the others around the room doing almost exactly the same thing. The emotions snapped off, and Anakin dragged in a wet, choking breath. Some Icharians wept, loudly. Others had collapsed, curling up on the ground, the entire place was full of noise and madness and--and Anakin shoved his way through, pushing Ahsoka towards Cody as he went. He strode towards Obi-Wan, who had fallen forward, hands braced on the ground, breathing hard.

Anakin grabbed his arm and hauled him up to his feet; he was trembling in his skin. “What the kriff is going on?” Anakin demanded, pulling Obi-Wan close; he seemed barely able to stand on his own. “What did they do to us?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, sounding ragged. “I thought things were going--”

One of the Icharians lurched towards them, arms out, and Anakin swore, trying to push Obi-Wan a step back. “No,” Obi-Wan rasped, “it’s, they’re not trying to hurt me, just--”

And then the Icharian was there, throwing all four arms around Obi-Wan, crushing him closer and making a deep, thrumming noise. The rest of the crowd was converging, pressing closer, pushing Anakin to the side. 

He scowled and kept his hold on Obi-Wan’s hand, tightening his grip, staying anchored throughout the entire mad event.

#

“What  _ was  _ that?” Anakin demanded, when they finally were allowed to push free of the claustrophobic huddle. He felt itchy all over, like he couldn’t quite get enough air in his lungs. Obi-Wan looked dazed, his hair a mess, his face still marked with tear tracks.

Obi-Wan shook his head, and said, “Let’s just hope it convinced them we were trustworthy.” He stiffened - Anakin was still holding onto him - when one of the Icharians followed them out of the chamber.

Anakin pulled him half a step back, just in case, but the Icharian was only inclining her head. “We apologize,” she said, clicking a little in the back of her throat. “We were unprepared for your grief.”

Obi-Wan tensed, all over. He said, his voice light, “I’m not sure what--”

“We do not understand how you bear it,” the Icharian continued, shaking her head, drifting forward, hand extended, and Anakin shifted to block her. She glanced at him, but only for a moment. “Such sadness is within you. It… overwhelmed us. We grieve with you, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan said, from behind Anakin’s shoulder, “That is… very kind of you, but I’m--”

“And we will help you find your missing friends,” she continued, turning aside. “We will do nothing to add to the sadness inside of you. Come.”

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan said, and started forward, tugging against Anakin’s grip. And Anakin wanted to demand to know about this sadness, this grief that apparently Obi-Wan was carrying around inside of him, that had felt deep and crushing as the abyss of space.

He said, “Obi-Wan--”

“Come on, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, without looking back, “the Senators are waiting.”

#

Anakin bit his tongue throughout the rescue mission. He said nothing while they retrieved Senators Organa and Amidala. But he found himself watching Obi-Wan, thinking about the fact that he was, apparently, sad enough to depress an entire people. It ate away at Anakin, consuming his thoughts.

His preoccupation must have been obvious, because when he went to find Obi-Wan in his quarters - the Senators safely tucked into the medbay - Obi-Wan already had the door open. He held out a cup of tea to Anakin without speaking.

Anakin took it, grateful to have something in his hands, and said, all the careful things he’d thought to say fleeing from his mind, “Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan quirked a smile, there and gone, at the floor. He was staring across the room, at the wall. “Of course, Anakin. I know it must have been--”

“You made an entire planet cry,” Anakin interrupted, not mentioning, exactly, what he had felt. He set the tea down because abruptly he needed both hands free, though he couldn’t think what he wanted to do, really. Something, he needed to do  _ something _ .

Obi-Wan shook his head. “They were merely unfamiliar with the way we process emotion, I’m sure,” he said, lightly. “Such an effect was likely, our two species are so different, they--”

“I felt it, too,” Anakin said, and, oh, what he’d needed to do was reach out and take Obi-Wan’s shoulders, stepping into his line-of-sight, so Obi-Wan had to look at him. “During the ritual. You’re… Obi-Wan.” He swallowed, remembering the exhaustion, the sadness, the sense of impossible pressure. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Obi-Wan barked a little laugh. He turned his face to the side. “What should I have said?” he asked, his shoulders slumping under Anakin’s touch. “My cares are a small concern, faced with…. All of this.”

And he believed it, Anakin realized, the center of his chest aching. Obi-Wan actually thought that it was a dismissable problem, the fact that he felt like he was dying inside. Anakin tightened his grip, and said, the words torn from him, “Not to me.” And it had been some time since he hugged Obi-Wan, but he remembered how, though they fit together somewhat differently, now.

Obi-Wan stiffened against him. He said, “Anakin, you have your own worries, I don’t want you to think that you must--”

“I know exactly what I must do,” Anakin said, feeling Obi-Wan waver and then sink against him, giving in to the embrace. “And right now, we need to talk, Obi-Wan. About everything.”


	12. “Can you be the one to do it?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst meme fill! Genfic. Zombie au of canon? Yes, that makes sense. Character death. Unhappy ending.

“Can you be the one to do it?” Cody asked, as Obi-Wan turned aside from sealing the door. The barrier would keep out the - the things following them. It was the reason they’d chosen this area of the base to make their camp with the few survivors remaining.

He desperately needed the chance to breathe, to think without the need to run and fight burning through him. He wiped a hand down his filthy face, cutting his gaze towards Cody in the dark, and asked, “What?”

Cody was leaning, a little, against the nearest wall, his head tipped back so he could gulp at the sour air. The base had smelled awful since they arrived. Like rot. They’d only discovered that was because it was full of bodies when they were too deep in to turn around and leave again.

Of course, even bodies wouldn’t have been enough to deter them, in normal circumstances. Obi-Wan had seen so very many bodies in his life. It was just that… usually they didn’t get up and walk around. Usually they didn’t chase after you, attempting to tear you apart. Usually the dead didn’t try to eat you.

He had no idea what the Separatists had been trying to accomplish on the base. They’d never discovered clear records and any of the scientists who had worked on the project were long dead. They’d found some of them. Or at least the pieces of them that were left, a few scraps of bone and flesh.

Obi-Wan had to hope that the abominations roaming the halls were not the ideal outcome of whatever experimentation had gone on. But knowing the Separatists, perhaps it was...

Obi-Wan shuddered, shoving all such considerations to the side. They’d lost so many men to the things, before they even knew what was happening. He’d had to listen to them screaming, crying out as they were - were torn apart - and -

“Will you take care of me,” Cody rasped, sliding down towards the floor, all at once. Obi-Wan lurched towards him, grabbing him, gentling his descent to the ground. Cody’s armor was grimy beneath his hand, wet. Filthy. He looked up at Obi-Wan, his eyes wide when he added, “before I change.”

Obi-Wan froze, fingers gripping tighter at Cody’s armor, what remained of it. He had been able to hear the noise of their little camp a moment before, but it seemed to have faded out. He said, his voice coming from far away, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” Cody said, grimacing and stretching out his arm, where his armor had been torn aside days ago. His blacks had been ripped away, as well. And on his skin, ugly and horrific, was a wide wound, and--

Obi-Wan jerked back, shaking his head, blurting, “No.” He couldn’t -- He’d lost so many of his men, but Cody was-- “That’s, it’s not, it’s just a--”

“It’s a bite, sir,” Cody said, dropping his arm again, watching Obi-Wan, breathing faster. He’d be getting hotter, Obi-Wan knew. A fever burning through him that would leave him cold as the grave, his eyes empty of everything but hunger. “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan turned half away, a sound torn from his chest, hurt and small. “Don’t,” he said, blinking rapidly, trying to find his center in the Force and failing. There could be no access to the Force in this place. It was so thoroughly corrupted.

“There’s not much time,” Cody said, a shaking in his voice, and Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to scream, to wake up from this nightmare. “Please. If you - if you can’t, you’ll have to get someone else, I want to still be me, when I die.”

Obi-Wan could not breathe around the lump in his throat. But he made himself nod. He made himself turn back to Cody, watching up with wide, trusting eyes. As though Obi-Wan had not let Cody down in every way possible.

“I’ll do it,” he rasped, dragging his leaden feet over. It was the only benediction he could offer, the only grace left to them. He sank down, hating Cody’s relieved smile, and settled by Cody’s side.

Cody did not fight when Obi-Wan drew him over, gathering him close. Cody shifted, in fact, pressing his face against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, shivers chasing each other through his body. “It won’t hurt,” he said, choking on the words, bringing an arm up, cradling Cody’s head, gently as he could.

“I know,” Cody panted, shuddering. “It’s alright.”

Obi-wan squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face against Cody’s short hair, ignoring the stinging in his eyes, the pressure squeezing around his lungs. “Sir,” Cody rasped, “thank you.”

Obi-Wan wept, could not stop the tears, and was weeping still, when finally one of the few survivors came to find him, to ask after the mission and to see if he needed help. He held Cody’s body, still, held him close, and he had, at least, still been himself, when he died.


	13. aut inveniam viam aut faciam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final prompt for the angst meme for May, the rest will be in the June post I suppose. Codywan. Obi-Wan embraces the dark, wins a war, and, possibly, losses his soul along the way.

“Why are your eyes so red?” The first time Cody asked, Obi-Wan was standing in the middle of a Separatist laboratory. They’d fought their way into the bunker over the course of days, Obi-Wan taking the last push by himself, forcing his way into this terrible room.

The first time Cody asked, Obi-Wan was surrounded by the dead, releasing the body of the last man he’d killed so that it could slump to the ground beside all the rest. The room had stunk of blood and cauterized skin.

The first time Cody asked, it had been after Obi-Wan spent hours walking through the results of the  _ experiments  _ conducted in this place, looking at the remains of the men and women - the  _ children  _ \- and granting those poor souls that had survived some measure of peace and--

He blinked, rapidly, turning his face away from his Commander, regathering all the emotions in his head and chest. There were lights flashing all over the room; the power had started failing within hours of their assault.

“What?” he asked, when he felt… contained, inside, turning to glance at Cody. Cody stood in the doorway, looking across the ruin within. There was no horror in his expression, only a grim sort of satisfaction. But, then, he’d seen everything Obi-Wan had seen.

Cody looked at him, a small frown passing across his face, and said, “Could have sworn your eyes were red a second ago, sir.”

Obi-Wan flashed him a tired smile, stepping over a body. “A trick of the light,” he said, clapping Cody on the arm. “Shall we get out of here?”

#

Obi-Wan had not been aware of the issue, not truly, before Cody asked about it. Oh, he knew he grew exhausted, he knew he was angry, but he had not thought that it had gone so far. But after Cody mentioned it, sometimes he glanced towards a mirror and found a red gleam across his irises.

He closed his eyes. He tried to meditate.

But all the meditation in the world did not undo the effects of the war on the galaxy. It did not bring back the dead or soothe the tormented. It did not put a stop to the unending stretch of madness and deprivation.

And so he glanced sideways at mirrors.

And red eyes looked back, more and more often.

#

“General,” Cody said, the second time, weeks later, on the bridge of a Separatist command ship. “Your eyes are red.” His men had made it in as Obi-Wan cornered the General leading the orbital bombardment of the planet below; they were wiping out  _ hundreds  _ with each shot, causing permanent damage to the planet’s crust, filling the atmosphere with particulates that would take a century to clear.

He’d heard them lower their blasters when the General’s head rolled away, his body slumping to the side and then falling, his hands - upraised - finally lowering. Obi-Wan expected to feel… something.

But he felt only a sense of grim satisfaction, standing there in the smoke-filled bridge of the ship, reaching out to cease the bombardment. “It’s the smoke in here,” he said to Cody, looking up to meet his gaze.

Cody stared back at him, dark eyes searching, and Obi-Wan waited.

They’d seen the General’s hands up, when they entered the bridge. They’d, no doubt, heard him pleading in the hall, though that hadn’t gone on for very long. Obi-Wan had seen no reason to drag things out. Such a waste of time would only result in more deaths.

Cody said, still watching him, his tone slow and thoughtful when he said, “Then you should get out of here, sir. Get some fresh air.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head. He said, “Good idea, Commander. Thank you.”

#

The third time Cody asked, they were in the war room on the  _ Negotiator _ , reviewing the newest orders sent down by the Senate. Obi-Wan read over them twice, looking at the holos swirling through the air, considering the troop deployments, the  _ strategies  _ advised by the Senate.

The plan would - almost certainly - win them the planet below. 

The problem, of course, was that it would, almost just as certainly, mean feeding hundreds - if not thousands - of his men into a meat grinder. Putting living men in, getting dead bodies out, and--

And Obi-Wan had his orders. He was to obey, the same as everyone else. The Senate had final word, their word was the law, they--

“Sir,” Cody said, quietly, at his shoulder. “It’s alright. We’d follow you into hell and back.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, the familiar lines of his face, the determination in his eyes, his battle-worn armor. He’d added a new decoration to it, recently, a small circle, half-red and half-blue. Obi-Wan had seen it on troopers throughout the battalion, but they’d been evasive about what it meant. They had things that mattered to them. Secrets they kept. Whole lives...and something shifted inside of him, something in his chest hardening and going cold. They’d follow him into hell. Willingly. 

But he saw no reason to make them burn.

He waved aside the holos, cold anger moving through him with each beat of his heart. He worked quietly for a moment, leaving the holo spinning slowly in place, and said, gazing upon it, “This is what we’re going to do.”

He stayed quiet while Cody looked over the plans for deployment. Cody had seen, after all, the orders they were given. These hardly matched. And Cody had every reason to follow the Senate’s orders, no reason at all to--

“I’ll let the men know,” Cody said, reaching out for his helmet, as something like relief or satisfaction unfurled inside Obi-Wan’s chest. He hesitated, a step away, glancing back, and added, “Sir, your eyes…”

“I haven’t been getting enough sleep,” Obi-Wan said, gaze on the spinning holo. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

#

And after that, after ignoring the orders of the Senate once and securing a victory that  _ felt  _ like a victory, Obi-Wan could see no reason not to continue doing so. He wondered what the Senate would do about it; it turned out little.

It was difficult to reprimand the person bringing you the victories you claimed to want, Obi-Wan supposed.

He wondered, breathing hard following a battle, the dead spread in a circle all around him, why, exactly, it had been so difficult to make progress before. He was still wondering when Cody approached him and said, quietly, “General, your eyes.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and said, “It’s just--”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” Cody interrupted, coming to a stop so close their shoulders bumped, leaning closer to keep his voice quiet. “I’m just telling you because Master Secura is making her way over here, and I thought you’d want to know.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, considerations speeding through his mind as he said, “You know what it means.”

Cody flashed him a smile, sharp, there and gone. “I know,” he said, and Obi-Wan felt a thrum down his spine, wondering if this was how it all ended, if Secura had brought enough men to take him, if Cody planned to pull the trigger--

And Cody continued, “And General Secura will, too, if you don’t do something about it.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, concentrating, reaching for peace and calm.

It was not that hard to find.

Lately he felt very sure of what he was doing.

#

Secura did not try to take him in to answer for what he had done. She seemed troubled, but willing to listen, willing to understand why Obi-Wan had taken the actions he’d taken, why he’d disregarded the Senate’s orders.

Results, Obi-Wan found, again, were difficult to argue with.

She spoke with him, listened to him, and when she left again she felt at peace, as well. More confident. Less burdened.

“That went better than I expected,” Obi-Wan told Cody, who had spoken with Bly, earnestly and quietly to one side, throughout the meeting. They’d gripped hands before Bly followed Secura away, shared a look of determination.

“Well,” Cody said, bumping his shoulder, “they do call you the negotiator.”

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. It surprised him, for a moment, that he could still manage laughter. He’d thought, for some reason, that he would lose it. But amusement spread through him, warm and pleasant. 

He asked, “Did you have a pleasant talk with your brother?” He kept his weight leaned against Cody’s shoulder. He’d wanted that closeness for so long. Denied himself. Sensed the risk of attachment and retreated, as he should have. But-- 

“I did,” Cody said. “I’ll tell you more about it later.” 

#

“The war needs someone to be able to make decisions across the entire front,” Obi-Wan said, after his next victory, speaking to members of the Council and the other Generals. “Someone who knows what’s going on. Attempting this with so many different plans is losing us this war.”

He watched them exchange glances, concerned, but… But he also saw flashes of agreement. They worried about what he was saying, he saw. But they knew he was right, all at the same time. He stifled a smile, continuing, “Master Yoda would be the obvious choice, his experience could only benefit us.”

“Experience I have,” Yoda said, shaking his head, far away on Coruscant, “but a mind for battle, I have not.” He glanced to the side and nodded at Master Windu.

“We agree that an overall strategy would benefit the Republic,” he said, “and will put the matter before the Senate. An assignment can be made if they agree.”

Obi-Wan nodded, discussed other plans, other battles, until the discussion ended.

It was less than a day before the Senate reached a decision.

Obi-Wan felt strange, listening to their decision. Not satisfied, exactly, only like he was one step closer to  _ fixing  _ things. He’d never been promoted before, and smiled at the congratulations, at the clasp of Cody’s hand around his arm, and the warmth of his expression.

“We should celebrate,” Cody said, drawing him down a hall, warm interest radiating from him through the Force.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh? How?”

Cody flashed him a smile, tugging him around a corner, leaning closer when he murmured, “I have a few ideas, sir. Would you like to hear them?”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow, his stomach tightening, his skin thrumming, and he should have said no. He said, “Why don’t you show me?” And Cody’s mouth was as warm and soft as he’d thought, his hands as strong and sure as they moved against one another.

#

Obi-Wan had never assumed that it would be easy, to - to fix everything. To end the war, to make the galaxy make sense again. And so, really, the attempts on his life were not unexpected.

The first assassin was a clone - not one of his men - and he had a blaster snugged against the back of Obi-Wan’s skull before Cody pulled the trigger. The assassin slumped down, afterwards, lifeless across the floor, and Obi-Wan said, “Oh, next time you should try to keep them alive.”

Cody grabbed him, then, pulling him around and looking him over, saying, “I’m sorry, sir, I should have--”

Obi-Wan waved a hand, dismissive. “You saved my life, Commander,” he said, and watched Cody flush a little at the warmth in his tone. “I hardly think you need to apologize. Let’s see if we can learn  _ anything  _ from him.”

In the end, the body gave up no secrets. But the next one they took alive, and the story he told left Obi-Wan with a cold feeling in his gut. It did not take overmuch work to determine who had sent him, who his orders had come from.

It took much less work to quietly send someone to address the problem.

#

Obi-Wan was in battle, when word of the Chancellor’s untimely demise reached him. He smiled, and did not need Cody to tell him about the state of his eyes.

#

“Padmé is worried about what you’re doing,” Anakin said, months into Obi-Wan’s campaign, when the Separatists had been pushed back and contained almost completely. He’d visited frequently; they were always working together. Most of the troopers in the 501st wore the blue and red circle on their armor.

He knew by then that it meant they were his.

He blinked up at Anakin, who seemed… worried, and asked, “What concerns her?”

Anakin shifted, uncomfortable. “She says… it’s a lot of power. For one person to have. She says you’re making decisions without consulting anyone else. She says it’s - it’s not democratic.” He glanced to the side. “A lot of other Senators are worried, too. She says.”

Obi-Wan smiled, soft, comforting. He straightened from where he’d been gazing at battle plans. He’d known there would be pushback. A few people were bound to notice what he was doing.

He said, taking a step towards Anakin, reaching out to grip his arm, “I understand. But, Anakin, what do  _ you  _ think?”

Anakin glanced to the side, jaw working for a moment, before he said, “I don’t - I know Padmé tries her best.” And Obi-Wan knew, then, that he had nothing to worry about. There was a relief to that. When the time came, he didn’t want to have to hurt Anakin. “She doesn’t understand that we’re just doing what needs done.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head, “she doesn’t. But that’s alright, she had other things to worry about.”

Anakin nodded. He looked relieved. He said, “And we’re winning the war. We’re really - it’s going to be over.”

“Soon,” Obi-Wan agreed, squeezing his arm. 

Anakin smiled at him and said, “You’ve done a good job, Master.”

#

The war ended with Dooku slumped at Obi-Wan’s feet, body going still and lifeless. Grievous had been sorted out already, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The leadership council of the Separatists, those still alive, were already begging to surrender.

Obi-Wan gave them his terms and accepted it, on behalf of the Republic.

General Unduli, there to watch the proceedings, looking uneasy as he did, but she said nothing, nothing at all, as the remaining leaders knelt and groveled and pled, until Obi-Wan waved them to their feet, insisting there was no need for such theatrics.

#

The galaxy at large celebrated. Obi-Wan put off his celebrations for a time. His work was, after all, not finished. He stood on the bridge of the  _ Negotiator _ , looking out across an army without a war to fight.

“What will you do now?” Cody asked, standing, as always, at his right hand. Obi-Wan looked at him, and smiled.

He waved a hand, changing the holos, focusing on the bright, beautiful, core worlds.

“Now,” he said, grinning, “I think we should go home. I think we’re all owed a victory parade, don’t you?”

#

Obi-Wan took the remaining capital ships, took all his fleets, and ordered them towards Coruscant. He stood on the bridge during the final approach, his heart beating calmly behind his ribs, the knowledge of what he had to do stretching out before him, smooth and clear.

“Do you know,” he said, gaze on the window but well aware when Cody stepped up beside him, “in the old days of the Republic, we used to have a Senate and an Emperor.”

Cody made a soft sound. “Did we? I’m afraid we never learned much ancient history.”

Obi-Wan frowned, briefly. He had so much work to do, to ensure his men were treated fairly. But that was a problem for tomorrow. “We did,” he said, gazing at the bright gem of Coruscant. “The title passed down through a family line for a while.”

“Until?” Cody asked, putting a hand on his back. 

“Until the line grew weak, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said. “And people decided to be more… proactive about taking the position.”

“Hm.” Cody drew him a little closer, his affection bleeding across the space between them. “And then who ruled?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth quirked. He stared, unblinking, out across the stars. “Conquering generals, mostly.” He felt… calm inside. Calm and still. He would fix things. So many things. Take all the necessary steps to undo so much damage, and if he damned his soul in the process, well…

So be it.

“Your eyes are red, sir,” Cody said, softly, and Obi-Wan glanced towards him, quirking a smile.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

Cody shook his head. “No,” he said, reaching out, sliding his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hair, moving closer. “I’ve always thought it suited you.” He brushed a kiss against Obi-Wan’s mouth, shifting to take it deeper after a moment, until they were both breathless.

Obi-Wan said, against his mouth, “You told me once you’d follow me into hell. Are you ready?”

Cody tugged him closer. He said, “Always, sir,” and kissed him again as they came out of hyperspace above Coruscant.


End file.
